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DAISY SEYMOUR. 


By L. a. 



^ SSostofi : 

Published by Xothrop & Co. 

(bovevj JN . H.: G, T, (bay Co* 


■PZ.3 


BKter«d».MeordlBg to Aet of Congress, In the year 
By D. Lotbrop A Co., and L. E. Bublzngahe, 

1b the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at WaehingtMt- 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. page 

The Pic - Nic ..6 

■ CHAPTER 11. 

The Sudden Temptation .16 

CHAPTER III. 

Compositions 31 


CHAPTER ly. 

The French Play • , .39 

CHAPTER V. 


From School to Farm- hop sb 46 

CHAPTER VI. 

Settling in jo new Ways 61 

CHAPTER VII. 

Harry 65 ‘ 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Great Shadow 77 

CHAPTER IX. 

A New Chord Struck 99 

CHAPTER X. 

Eyes Opening . . , 117 



V 


Contents, 


CHAPTER XL 

Settling into her Sphere 

CHAPTER XII. 

Heart - Struggles .... 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Revival 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Facing Responsibility 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Young Christian’s Death 

CHAPTER XVI. 

In a Xew Sphere .... 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Np:wand Higher Thoughts 

CHAPTER XVIIt. 

Using Edged Tools .... 

CHA.PTER XIX. 

Self - Revelations .... 

CHAPTER XX. 


PAGE 

12G 

137 

. 151 

1()4 

175 

187 

196 

216 

‘227 


Final Views 


249 


DAISY SEYMOUR. 


CHAP TEE I. 


THE PIC -NIC. 

AISY satin the school - room, writ- 
ing a French exercise. It seemed to 
Daisy as if she were always writing 
French exercises. Now it was a 
French verb, then copying the dictation lesson, 
then a French letter, and then something else, 
till, between Monsieur Camolet and Madame Lo- 
lotte, her Botany and English Literature would 



6 


Daisy Seymour. 


have had a poor chance, had not her sensible 
teacher taught botany in the fields and woods, 
and her own taste and extensive reading made 
the old poets a delight to her. 

Daisy was 'tired of French that morning. She 
did think to herself, — ” Monsieur Camolet is par- 
ticular and cross,” though she felt a slight twinge 
for saying so, even to herself ; but the birds were 
singing so gaily, the morning hour was so sweet 
with the breath of flowers, and the shaded lawn 
upon which the school - room opened looked 
such an Eden of beauty, that her fancy would 
drift away from French idioms. 

” With good will, doing service.” ” Do all 
things without murmurings and disputings,” she 
said softly, as she recalled her Bible verses for 
the morning. ” That means, all work must be 
done in a good spirit. Even hand labor can be- • 
come temple service, drudgery be glorified, and 
the dullest task alive with a spiritual presence. 
So Mrs. Lawrence told us. I wonder if I can put 


The Pic -me. 


7 


a soul into the ' negative - interrogative.’ ” And 
Daisy tried to go on with her writing. 

” Do sit still, Mary ! ” Mary Morris was 
fidgeting at her elbow in busy idleness. Mary 
could always keep more busy in nothing than in 
something. " Have you written your French ? ” 

” No ; a little bird prophesied to me that we 
are going to the woods to - day , and I would not 
for the world taste any study.” 

Going into the woods ! ” " Won’t that be 
splendid ! ” came from a dozen mouths at once, 
as the bent heads sprang up from the pressure of 
lessons, like flowers from the weight of rain - 
drops. 

” How do you know, Mary ? ” And they toss 
books aside, and buzz about in eager anticipa- 
tion. 

” Oh, I saw Madame and Mrs. Lawrence in 
close council, and heard part of a message to the 
cook about 'lunch,’ and another to Pete about 
' safe horses’ and ' all day,’ and such like interest- 


8 


Daisy Sey7nour. 


ing fragments, which, put together, mean that we 
study nothing but botany to - day, just as sure as 
that two and two make four. And here comes 
Madame.” 

” Ah, mes poulettes ! What for you study now. 
Run away for your hats and your baskets. Mrs. 
Lawrence says to tell you we go to a pic - nic at 
Ellis’s Mills. OIF to the woods ! ” *And Madame 
Lolotte waves her handkerchief and dances about 
the room, caroling a Swiss mountain song, as 
blithe and buoyant as the gayest maiden among 
them, though she carried in her heart the graves 
of husband and children, and American ways 
were as foreign to her habits as its language to 
her tongue. 

So there was rejoicing in Mrs. Lawrence’s 
school - room, repeated as the day scholars gath- 
ered at nine o’clock, and Mrs. Lawrence an- 
nounced the arrangements for a pic - nic for the 
school, with directions for overshoes and extra 
shawls, text -books on botany, tin boxes and 


The Pic - me. 


9 


baskets for flowers, &c., &c. And then there 
was hurrying, and clattering, and planning for 
individual comforts and resources for the day. 
Private stores of oranges and pea - nuts were to 
be packed in flower baskets, thick gloves to be 
mended, missing .buttons to be restored to leather 
boots, consultations, ''if this sacque would do,” 
” how this large hat looks,” and " if it will do to 
wear the black and red suit,” &c. Girlish taste 
has an eye for beauty, whatever the dress, and 
the graceful figures and fresh young faces have 
such a knack of adaptation to circumstances, that 
the unique garments and oddly assorted suits 
look like picturesque costume donned for the oc- 
casion. 

At last they were off, teachers and scholars, 
little Charlie, the child of the house, and Pete the 
Irish boy, who was to look after the lunch bas- 
kets and serve as body - guard in any emergency. 
The morning was fine', the vehicle comfortable 
and roomy, the horses in good spirits, and the 


10 


Daisy Seymour, 


driver careful and good-natured; and they rode 
on with as much buoyant gladness and eager an- 
ticipation as a party of frolicsome people, half in- 
toxicated with ” merry madness,” could hold in 
their heads and hearts. They halted at every 
meadow, swamp or wood where there was a possi- 
bility for flowers ; and even the driver, catching 
their botanical enthusiasm, would fasten the 
horses and himself plunge through thicket and 
morass to hunt for ladies’ slipper or painted- cup. 
How they went over shoes in the reedy mire, 
venturing after water-lilies, or down in boggy 
depths after meadow blossoms ! How veils were 
rent in the thickets, and dresses torn on the un- 
der - brush ! How eager the race of the swift-footed 
after field blossoms which the keen eye discovered 
from afar ! How ringing the laughter of those 
whose fearless agility made the five - barred board 
fence a light gymnastic feat, over the timid and 
awkward who were afraid of the brook on one 
side and bramble bushes on the other, and were 


The Pic - nic. 


11 


utterly befogged as to the way of getting up to 
the topmost bar and getting down again , on the 
opposite side ! How little vanities, caprices and 
selfishness showed themselves here and there in a 
naive transparency ! How others never lost their 
sweetness, gentleness and thoughtful courtesy 
under the most exuberant spirits ! 

” With good will, doing service,” came into 
Daisy’s thoughts even in her wildest glee, making 
her eye quick, her hand helpful and her tongue 
ready in deeds and words of kindness. But not 
always without an effort. She did want that 
beautiful orchid which she gave up to Nellie 
Stearns, when a treacherous moss hillock left the 
latter halting in the race. Her arm did ache 
carrying the large box of specimens across the 
meadow. She did enjoy that comfortable seat 
which she oflfered to tired Lucy. And when she 
sat mending careless Helen’s dress, she would 
have liked better the fun and frolic when the girls 
' were decking the long omnibus with oak branches. 


12 


Daisy Seymour, 


The little self - denials, the little moralities of so- 
cial intercourse, cost something. So Daisy found, 
for she was not an angel ; only an affectionate, 
fresh - hearted school - girl, immature and faulty, 
but earnest in purpose, sincere in effort to grow 
wiser and worthier. She had just begun to see 
how all that was valuable in her must be rooted 
and jrrounded in her love for her Saviour if it 
wjould stand against temptation and trial ; and in 
her simple, earnest way, she was trying to lift 
her daily life up from its low level of natural 
amiabilities and kind impulses into a Christian at- 
mosphere with Christian graces. And who does 
not know how inveterate and troublesome faults 
seem to grow when we watch against them and 
strive to correct them ? As long as our eyes 

were shut to them, they gave us little concern. 
Thus, while the teachers remarked that Daisy 
Seymour was developing and* improving every 
day, she felt ashamed and grieved over her short - 
comings. But to - day there was little mourning 


The Pic~nic. 


13 


over faults ; only a quickened remembrance of 
others’ ha])pmess, a deeper and richer fullness of 
joy in her exuberant spirits, a softening and tem- 
pering of her careless glee by an unselfish thought- 
fulness for those about her. 

They had their pic - nic dinner on the wooded 
bank of a lively little river, that, after being held 
up by a dam to work in a flour mill, came bound- 
ing and racing over the rocks in a wild outburst 
of freedom and joypusness, — now leaping down 
in foaming cataracts, then laughing and dimpling 
in a thousand eddies where the sunshine played 
and lost itself. How the girls frolicked after din- 
ner, and then rambled up and down the bank, 
finding new treasures in minerals and flowers, ex- 
plored ravines and mossy dells, investigated the 
machinery of the mill, weighed themselves on the 
scales, made acquaintance with the children in the 
neighboring cottage, the chickens, the geese and 
the lambs, or, seated in shaded nooks, told 
stories to each other, or reveled in poetic dreams 


14 


Daisy Seymour, 


on the roots of a giant tree that stretched over 
the river where it made a bold leap over the rocks 
with a roaring and rushing, and then came up in 
foam and mist. It was easy to fancy that they 
themselves were bounding over with, the river, 
down into the whirling, foaming depths, up into 
the sunshine and spray, and out into the gladsome 
current beyond. Who knows how many bright 
ideas and pleasant fancies were suggested here and 
saved for their next compositions ? — how many 
sank down softly and deep into their hearts and 
memories, to come up in some far-off future, like 
the picture of a saint clothed in a halo of golden 
light? 

They came home in the late sunset, embowered 
in leaves and flowers, laden with treasures from 
the woods, and satisfied that the day had been all 
they had anticipated. Out on the country roads 
they made the air ring with their songs, then 
gradually dropped into softer music, then their 
lively voices and pealing laughter fell into 


The Pic - nic. 


15 


lower tones and rippling trills or airy bub- 
bles of glee, as the wheels rattled upon the 
pavements, and their wild spirits had sub- 
sided into hushed household gentleness as they 
drove up to the door in the fading golden twi- 
light. 



CHAPTER n. 



THE SUDDEN TEMPTATION. 

N THE following morning Daisy 
sat again at her desk in the school - 
. room, but the morning had no bright- 
ness. She scribbled on the margin of 
her exercise book : " Yesterday was one of June’s 
perfect days, as full of sparkling effervescence as 
if the wine of life were just uncorked ; to - day 
is rainy, cold and dreary, as if a part of the foam- 
ing goblet, left unquaffed while its sw^eetness and 
sparkle were fresh in it, had been saved over, 
stale and insipid, for our meager fare to - day.” 
Daisy was apt to put a plain fact into a fanciful 
dress. The truth was, she slept so soundly and late 


The Sudden Temptation, 17 

after the fatigues and excitements of yesterday, 
that she was behindhand in her work, had a 
head - ache and felt cross. Then the morning 
was rainy, and everything and everybody looked 
disagreeable to her. The uneasy, idle Mary 
Morris only ruffled her yesterday ; to - day she 
exasperated her. 

" Mary, if you won’t sit still and study your- 
self, do n’t hinder your neighbor. I wish some- 
body would nail you to one place, so that I could 
have a little peace.” 

Perhaps you would like to be the hammer ; ” 
and Mary saucily dropped her head between 
Daisy’s face and book. How could Daisy help 
snapping the pink ear and twitching the short 
curls ? The snap and the twitch may have been a 
little harder than she meant. At any rate,. 
Mary’s quick rebound under the playful infliction 
overturned the inkstand upon the desk, Daisy’s 
French exercise, dress, down upon the carpet. 
This was a grievous calamity. To spill ink was 


18 


Daisy Seymour, 


unpardonable under Mrs. Lawrence’s rule. The 
girls were expected to do their writing in the 
school - room, and covered inkstands were fitted 
into their desks, so that there was little excuse 
for any accident. Daisy preferred a fancy ink, 
and had brought her own inkstand. Poor Daisy I 
She lost her temper, her time, her lesson and her 
dress. With the annoyance of the accident, the 
reproof of her teacher, her own self - blame, 
and the serio-comic commiseration of the girls, 
she took her seat at the commencement of school, 
mortified, grieved and vexed. Everything went 
wrong all the morning, but she shut her mouth 
firmly, swallowed hard, and with subdued reso- 
luteness tried to be brave and patient. — ”Ah, 
Daisy, the big ears will show ! ” ” vos oreilles 
vous trahissent ! ” 

The girls were preparing for their afternoon 
walk, and Daisy stood at the glass giving some 
finishing touches to her curls as they floated out 
loosely under her hat. She was not noticeably 


The Sudden Temptation, 19 

vain. She did not think she was vain at all ; — 
only complacently glad that people were pleased 
with her personal appearance, though " really she 
would rather have Carrie Willis’s strongly marked 
features and striking manners, than her own pink 
and white face. There was a chance to put so 
much into Carrie’s face, and her style could be- 
come so distingue, while her own apple - blossom 
prettiness would always be tame and ordinary.” 
But if she was only glad when people admired her, 
she was not simply sorry over her personal defects. 
Her large, homely ears were a great mortification 
to her ; ” such a mistake in the type of her 
physique,” as she used to say. ” Her fair skin, 
blue eyes and golden hair, had a right to delicate 
ears.” She felt as if nature had wronged her, so her 
ears did not harmonize with her temper any more 
than with her style of beauty ; and, since the fash- 
ion of arranging the hair exposed the ears so much, 
she was accustomed to dispose of her waving, curl- 
ing locks with v^ii'ious coquettish devices to conceal 


20 


Daisy Seymour, 


these objectionable appendages to her otherwise 
symmetrical head. Of course, the girls used to 
tease her about it. Ordinai'ily she concealed her 
sensitiveness and laughed good - naturedly with 
them, meeting their bantering and criticisms with 
the same equanimity as she did their flatteries ; 
for, whatever may be true of women, school- 
girls do admire each other, and if such admira- 
tion is not as intoxicating, it is quite as genuine 
in expression, as that which meets them in so- 
ciety. 

To - day, Daisy had her nerves on the outside, 
and Abby’s teasing remark and mischievous 
quotation from the fable that had given them so 
much merriment as well as moralizinof in the 
class, made her blue eyes flash and her cheeks 
grow hot; and, with a withering look at the 
plain, deformed girl, her quick tongue ansvVered, 
—"If I were a hunch - back, I would not make 
fun of other people’s little imperfections.” 

It did not need Abby’s burst of tears, nor the 


The Sudden Temptation. 21 

quick exclamations, ”For shame, Daisy ! ” ” How 
could you ! ” ” How cruel ! ” to make Daisy hide 
her face in shame and remorse. They all loved 
Abby, and, with genuine delicacy and considerar 
tion, rarely reminded her of her deformity, 
even in their most thoughtless fun. Daisy’s 
cruel words came out so suddenly that they seemed 
to utter themselves. They were as unexpected and 
shocking to herself as to the others. "How could 
I ! ” she exclaimed, flinging her arms about the 
weeping girl, and making all the apology she 
could ; but the rude speech could not be taken 
back. Spoken words can not be unsaid. 

Madame’s gay call : " Depechez - vous ! mes 
petites ! mes poulettes ! Depechez - vous ! Pour- 
quoi ne vous depechez - vous pas ? ” put an end to 
the scene. 

Fortunately, or perhaps considerately, for she 
had a faculty for doing the right thing in appar- 
ent ignorance of its opportuneness, Mrs. Law-^ 
rence sent in to ask Abby if she would ride 


22 


Daisy Seymour, 


over to the greenhouse for her, and order the 
flowers for reception.” The carriage was at the 
door, and she found it impossible to go herself, 
as she proposed. And if Daisy and Mary did 
not mind giving up their walk, would they stay 
and help her pack the missionary box which was 
to be sent off the next morning ? 

Abby dried her tears for the ride, and Daisy 
and Mary brought out the garments which their 
deft fingers had made for the western household, 
and silently folded and arranged the articles till 
Mrs. Lawrence joined .them, and, with her genial, 
sympathetic, helpful presence, restored the bright- 
ness of their faces somewhat, without appearing to 
notice that it had been clouded. 

The day wore on to its close. Daisy felt too 
humbled and discouraged over her failures, mis- 
haps and faults to join the lively chat of the girls 
after evening study hour, and stole away to her 
room with a mixed feeling of remorse for her 
wrong - doing and a sense of injury, as if circum- 


The Sudden Temptation* 23 

stances had conspired against her. The rainy 
morning had cleared into a pleasant afternoon 
and moonlight evening ; but Daisy’s day ended 
in a flood of tears. Sitting down in the low 
window seat, with only the moon to ask her 
why she wept, she indulged, with a kind of de- 
licious misery, in the unrestrained tears that she 
had choked back during the day. There was 
enough self - pity mingled with the self - blame 
to make her comfortably wretched. Here Mrs. 
Lawrence found her. " My dear Daisy ! Has 
anything happened? This surely will not cure 
the headache.” 

As she lifted the fair young face and smoothed 
away the golden curls, face and curls softened 
and etherealized in the silver radiance, the mem- 
ory of a dear face and shining locks that once 
nestled in her bosom, but now looked down upon 
her from beyond the stars, crowned with the 
ineffable light of the heavenly glory, stirred the 
mother -love with a tender pain. The pain she 


24 


Daisy Seymour. 


hid in her heart ; the tenderness softened her 
tones as she drew Daisy into her arms with a 
brooding love. 

But she was wise as well as tender. So, if 
her first care was to soothe and comfort the 
weeping girl, she did not fail to show her faults 
in sharp outline ; for how could her pupil correct 
her faults unless she saw and felt them clearly? 
A general condemnation of ourselves is made 
without much painful self - blame, and with little 
effort to correct our wrong. It costs more to 
say that we were wrong in particular instances ; 
but out of the shame and sorrow of an acknowl- 
edged actual sin is born a stronger purpose and 
more watchful care not to repeat it. When 
Daisy said, — " It is not the head - ache so much 
as the heart - ache which needs to be cured,” if 
she replied, — ” Perhaps the head - ache makes the 
heart - ache,” it was because she knew very well 
that our tempers come from the body as well as 
from the mind, and only a recognition of this fact 


The Sudden Temptation, 25 

would put us in the best way to cure them. Ill - 
nature is ill - nature, whether arising from un- 
strung nerves or the provocations of others. In 
either case, it must be restrained ; but it makes a 
difference to us whether we exercise the patience 
and forbearance towards our own irritability or 
another’s vexatious conduct. It makes a differ- 
ence whether we say, — " I slept poorly last night, 
and feel so cross to - day that nothing goes right,” 
or, — ” Everybody is so cross and exasperating 
that my patience is sorely tried.” So if Mrs. 
Lawrence tried to show Daisy that a great part 
of her trials and faults for the day had grown out 
of her physical discomfort, it was not to excuse 
her faults nor prove her trials groundless ; but 
that, seeing their causes, she could more cor- 
rectly estimate them and learn how to meet sim- 
ilar ones with better results. 

"But, Mrs. Lawrence, I could not help the 
head - ache, and Mary Morris distressed me so 
that I could not bear it ; and I could not study ; 


26 Daisy Seymour, 

and I could not help being vexed when I failed and 
iNIonsieur scolded me ; and I could not help being 
aggravated when so many vexations came one after 
another, though I am sorry enough for it all.” 

" Did not bear it ; did not help it, you mean ; 
we are to exercise the grace of patience, and that 
we can do only through something hard to bear. 
In many of^ the circumstances of our lives, our 
place is to bear just what comes to us, not to 
choose what we are to bear. Often the trial is 
not in the thing itself, but that it is trying to us ; 
so it sometimes seems as if the very things which 
are the greatest hindrances to Christian growth 
beset us constantly ; and when it looks as if it 
would be so easy to be good under other circum- 
stances, we are apt to feel as if we had some ex- 
cuse for failing under these. But God rarely 
sets any soul in what we, in our short-sightedness, 
would consider the most favorable conditions for 
its growth in goodness, any more than He hides 
the mountain oak in a special pavilion to protect 


The Sudden Temptation, 27 

it from wind and storm ; yet He expects each 
soul to do its best, as the oak to grow into a 
giant tree. Perhaps God might have strength- 
ened the soul without trial, and the oak without 
storm ; but who shall question His appointed plan 
for spiritual or natural growth? Our physical 
condition does so materially affect our mental and 
moral powers, that the care of our health becomes 
an important duty ; but whether impaired health 
is a result of our ignorance, or our carelessness, or 
comes from something ' beyond our control, the 
faults arising from it are faults against which we 
must stru^ofle ; and the trials must be met with 
patience and sweetness.’’ 

" How could I guard against the fault of speak- 
ing so unkindly to Abby, when I never thought 
so unkindly? I did not suppose I could speak so. 
I should just as soon have thought of guarding 
against speaking Greek.” 

” We are to guard against the spirit which 
prompts such an expression, and keep our tongues 


28 


Daisy Seymour, 


under especial watch against any hasty words, 
rather than against particular ones. Passion or 
sin, under any form, often leaps out into sudden 
word or act before we are scarcely conscious of 
its existence in the heart ; and many a guilty man 
sits down amazed and terrified before his own 
act. We could scarcely believe that ' the heart 
is deceitful above all things and desperately 
wicked,’ if we did not sometimes experience such 
a mortifying revelation of ourselves. You see 
how we learn humility, and sympathy and charity 
for others’ failures and errors.” 

" I am so glad the Saviour knows all about it ; 
so, when a little thing is hard for us. His tender 
pity is touched by the trial, all the same as if it 
were a great thing. That is a comfort.” 

" Yes ; that thought gives us comfort and 
strength. Our faithfulness in these little things, 
where only God’s eye marks it, may be the best 
test of our character. There are some precious 
confidences, like little secrets between ourselves 


The Sudden Temptation, 29 

and the Saviour. He knows, and we know, some 
hard places through which we walk, some trials 
where we strive to be faithful ; and nobody else 
knows. And the thought that we grieve our 
Saviour often keeps us from many a secret sin, 
just as our love for a dear friend makes us guard 
against displeasing or disappointing that friend.” 

A reproachful sadness in her tone made Daisy 
ask quickly : 

And were you disappointed in me to-day, 
Mrs. Lawrence?” 

” Yes, Daisy, disappointed and grieved.” 

” O Mrs. .Lawrence, I am so sorry ! ” 

And there is One more disappointed and 
grieved than I am. Have you told Him that you 
are sorry ? ” 

Daisy hid her face in Mrs. ‘Lawrence’s bosom. 
” If I could only tell Him as I do you, and hear 
His real voice speaking so tenderly and kindly ! 
I am so sorry I have grieved Him, and I want to 
tell Him of it just as I do you.” 


30 


Daisy Seymour. 


” And that is the way He wants you to tell 
Him. Let His presence be as real to you, and 
all your communion with Him be as natural, 
sincere and loving as with your dearest friends. 
Is He not nearer and dearer than all others ? Do 
we not carry the burdens of our sins and sorrows 
to Him, rest in him, hide ourselves in Him? Is 
He not our hope, our joy, our all in all ? ” 

And even as Mrs. Lawrence helped and com- 
forted Daisy, slie found help and comfort for her- 
self in the same precious hopes and consolations ; 
for the mature Christian, as well as the young 
disciple, realizes Paul’s experience : '' Blessed be 
God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort, 
who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that 
we may be able to comfort them which are in any 
trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves 
are comforted of God.” 



CHAPTER III. 



COMPOSITIONS. 

ORNING, with its freshness, 
hope and sunshine, is so different 
from evening, with its fatigues, 
sights and gas-light. It is one thing 
to take up the burden with a strong, valiant arin, 
and quite another to lay it down, worn and 
self - reproachful. The night that comes between 
the mornino: and evening, the Sabbath that comes 
between Saturday night and Monday morning, 
are the transition steps over which we walk, from 
the regret to the hope, with the benediction of 
God’s silence and peace resting on us. Some- 
times there is something akin to that in our spir- 


V 


32 


Daisy Seymour. 


\ 


itiial life ; — in the beginning and end of things, 
for they do come to an end as much as the day 
does ; there are nights of sweet rest, — Sabbaths 
of 'holy stillness, as well as morning, noon and 
evening. 

In the freshness of the dewy morning, with ihe 
fading wild flowers before her, Daisy wrote her 
composition. 

"FADED FLOWERS. 

GATHERED AT ELLIS’S FALLS. 

“ On the banks of the rushing river, 

^Mid the wild water’s roar, 

Where their ceaseless anthems forever 
' Their deep melody pour ; 

These growing buds and leaves unfolded 
In most delicate green, 

Into forms of beauty molded 
By artists unseen. 

“ In the glad and joyous spring-time. 

Wooed by the genial day, 

Charmed with songs of the sunny clime, 

And kissed in zephyrs’ play. 

The fairy buds in beauty burst 
Their folded leaflets free, 

While the song that greeted them first 
Was the wild wave’s minstrelsy. 


Compositions 


33 


‘‘ Adown the steep in hurrying flow 
The joyous river boundeth. 

And echomg from the rocks below 
Its voice unfettered soundeth ; 

Like an untamed human spirit 
Rushing in mad career, 

It boldly leaps whate’er would check it, 
Scorning doubt or fear. 

“ Yet ’mid the eddying waves below 
Comes up a floating wreck, 

And the shroud of the cataract’s foam 
The form of death may deck. 

So if we fathom a reckless soul. 

That rushes proudly on, 

Down deep where waves of passion roll, 
We see what wrecks have gone. 

And e’en in the stream’s victorious song. 
Which swells in pealing notes. 

As o’er the rocks it dashes along, 

A tone of sadness floats ; — 

A dirge for the beautiful and bright 
That, once embarked on its wave. 

Have sunk in deep and endless night, 

To sleep in a watery grave. 

“ And ’mid this ever-varying song 
Of the cataract so near. 

With the vision of the foamy crest 
Which it doth ever wear. 

These leaves and flowers in beauty grew, 
And lived their summer day. 

And ’mid its music ever new 
There’s life and death alway.” 


34 


Daisy Beymour, 


Wiser heads than Daisy’s have probably 
nodded approvingly over their own imperfect 
work ; so she was not foolish above others if she 
looked complacently upon her faulty measure and 
halting rhymes. Composition was not the dreaded 
bugbear to her that girls generally find it. She 
had thoughts and fancies, and she expressed them 
easily and prettily ; so her school - mates called 
her compositions " splendid,” though her teachers 
often erased unnecessary adjectives, and con- 
densed a long paragraph into a brief period, or 
recalled her from the stars and flowers to com- 
mon - place subjects. She was too sensible to re- 
gard her girlish effusions with foolish vanity, yet 
it must be owned that she thought they were 
pretty good for a school - girl. And when Mary 
Morris peeped over her shoulder and called it 
beautiful” as she sat copying it before school, 
she smiled very pleasantly at the interruption. 

Mischievous Mary Morris ! Toying with her 
pen while she ransacked her brain for thoughts 


Compositions, 35 

that were never there, soraeliow the fantastic fon- 
cies that were there jotted themselves down till, 
hardly knowing it, she had made a sketchy car- 
icature of the group of girls on the roots of the 
old tree that stretched over the Falls, drawing 
the faces with marvelous likeness, yet irresistibly 
comic in the exaggeration. She had rare artistic 
powers, — her one talent ; and with a few bold 
strokes the whole scene was ludicrously complete. 
Out of Daisy’s mouth waved a streamer with 
these lines : 

Leaping the rocks, over goes the river, 

Each wave chasing its brother ; 

As I’ve seen the scared sheep stiver, 

Galloping after each other.” 

The picture was innocent enough in Mary’s 
portfolio, but dextrously fastened to Daisy’s sash 
bow, when she rose to read her composition, it 
became the very spirit of mischief. The girls 
sitting behind and around her were bursting with 
suppressed mirth, and the effect of poor Daisy’s 
poetry was quite lost in the sensation which the 


36 


Daisy Seymour, 


picture made. She read on, her face flushing as 
she felt the disturbance, restlessness and inatten- 
tion of her audience, while Mary Morris sat de- 
mure and attentive, probably meditating what 
excuse she could offer why she was not prepared 
with her own composition. When Daisy sat 
down, Mary slyly detached the picture and 
placed it upon the desk before her. An angry 
color came into Daisy’s cheek for a moment, and 
then, it was so comical, a sudden laugh, as 
quickly checked, betrayed the mischief to Miss 
Holcombe who waspresiding at the desk in Mrs. 
Lawrence’s absence. She was too near - sighted 
to see always what was going on, but she never 
failed to hear ; and Miss Daisy was called to ac- 
count in an uncompromising manner. In the 
investigation the unfortunate picture was brought 
before the tribunal. At the sight, there was a 
queer pucker around Miss Holcombe’s mouth, and 
perhaps she wished she had not heard the laugh ; 
— at least she deferred the prosecution of disci- 


Composttions. 


37 


pline until recess. Daisy was left with a mixed 
sensation, not altogether agreeable, and some- 
where down under her feelings was a resolution 
not to write a poem next time, — a resolution 
more easily carried out after her composition was 
returned with this brief sus’^estion on the mar- 
gin ; ”Take Quarrels for your next subject.” 

If she did not at first appreciate ’ the reason 
why Miss Holcombe did not encourage her poetic 
talent, the instructions and suggestions made in 
the composition class helped her to see the value 
of real, definite ideas, of actual knowledge, of 
clear perceptions, as opposed to vague fancies and 
dreamy sentiments ; — that the mental discipline, 
growth and culture in thought and language 
which was the object of her school compositions, 
would not be secured if only her imagination and 
taste were exercised. So Daisy tried to work 
patiently over the ” dry” subjects that were to 
give breadth and definiteness to her thought and 
ballast for her fancies, indulging now and then in 


38 


Daisy Seymour, 


a little by - play of versifying, which she would 
carry to Miss Holcombe for criticism and sug- 
gestions. Finally, Miss Holcombe proposed that 
she sliould write a poem for her examination com- 
position, and she found the wings of her muse 
had not lost their airy lightness while strengthen- 
ing the muscles. That poem was a success ; and of 
all the pleasant things said to her about it, noth- 
ing gave her such a glow of pleasure as Miss 
Holcombe’s affectionate congratulation, with the 
quiet remark, — " I like it very much.” 



CHAPTER IV. 



THE FRENCH PLAY. 

I’ll be ' Eugenie’ and write my poe- 
try, and I’ll find rhyming words without 
trouble,” said Mary, rolling up her eyes 
in a poet’s frenzy and assuming a senti- 
mental attitude. 

"No, you’ll never remember two lines of 
French poetry with all your romantic tricks. 
You’ll have to give that part to somebody who 
has studied the lessons for the last quarter.” 

" Well, I ’ll make it up, if I can’t remember it. 
You’ll see. And here’s Helen ought to be 'Car- 
oline.’ Her black eyes know how to coquette to 
perfection.” 


40 


Daisy Seymour. 


” A fine part she would play, with her short 
curls close to her head, when, in her very first 
appearance, * Caroline’ has her hair down her 
shoulders, and is in a world of trouble about a 
head-dress. Better have somebody whose hair 
can be stretched more than two inches.” The 
speaker had a mass of dark braids coiled about 
her head. 

Then I think Daisy must have that part,” 
said Mary. ''You are sure her hair won’t 
fall off when it is let down loose over her shoul- 
ders. The rest of us might have a little anxiety 
on that point, as there are more chignons that 
sleep on the dressing table than on the pillow.” 

" Innocent Daisy for a coquette ! Qu’ aliens 
nous devenir ! ” 

" I have it ! Daisy shall write the poetry and 
look sentimental ; and she speaks French so flu- 
ently.” 

Daisy liked that. So the girls went on arrang- 
ing their parts and planning the scenes. They 


The French Play. 


41 


were to have a little French play, " La Vieille 
Cousine,” for an entertainment at the close of the 
quarter, and, having just finished the reading of 
the last scenes, were waiting for Monsieur Cam- 
olet to decide upon the pupils to represent the 
characters. There were enough ready to take the 
parts of Madame Langlois, Eugenie and Caro- 
line, but no one appreciated Ursule and Lili. 
They were ready enough to be fine ladies, but 
nobody cared to be a kitchen maid or a poor re- 
lation. 

Presently M. Camolet came in and assigned 
the parts authoritatively, choosing Sarah May and 
Daisy, the best French scholars in school, for 
Lili and Ursule. 

There was great surprise, and the girls ex- 
pressed some unwillingness to accept his plan, 
which fretted his temper, and matters grew threat- 
ening. 

” Can’t Ellen Hyde be la vieille cousine 9 ” 
said Daisy, poutingly. 


42 


Daisy Seymour. 


Ellen was a plain, awkward girl. Daisy was 
sorry the moment she had spoken, as M. Camolet 
gravely answered : ” Miss Hyde will do well 
whatever I ask her to do, but she has not studied 
French long enough for this. But what do you 
want. Mademoiselles ? You care only to look pret- 
ty. We will have a play where all are fine ladies ? 
Comment stupide ! Do n’t you know the beauty 
is to act the part well? The more striking and 
characteristic, the better. Have none of you 
spirit and talent enough -to seize upon the strong 
points in a marked character and represent them ? 
Do you want to be lay figures or butterflies ? 
Then we won’t have a play.” And M. Camolet 
turned to leave them. 

At the door he met Mrs. Lawrence, who saw 
that something was wrong. 

” The young ladies will have nothing but fine 
dresses and fine ladies. There is enough of that 
every day ; so we will give up the play.” 

" Oh, no. The young ladies will choose what 


The French Play, 


43 


we choose,” said Mrs. Lawrence ; and her very 
presence seemed to settle tlie vexed questions. 
In a few words she made them see, not only that 
the manner in which they acted the part in a play 
was more than the part itself, but that in real 
life our aim should be to do well whatever came 
to our hand to do ; — that the nobility of work 
consisted not in the kind of work, but in the way 
it was done. The doer, not the thing done, 
makes the difference. 

“ A servant with this clause 
Makes drudgery divine ; 

Who sweeps a room as for thy laws. 

Makes that and the action fine.” 

While Mrs. Lawrence talked, they compre- 
hended that things are to us what we make out 
of them, and of course acquiesced in the best ar- 
rangement of characters ; though, if the truth 
were told, Sarah did not feel much enthusiasm 
over her kitchen dress, and Daisy looked dismally 
at her quaint costume and rattle - traps. 

The first rehearsal was not very encouraging, 


44 


Daisy Seymour* 


but after a time they entered into the spirit of 
the play, and with girlish vivacity and buoyancy 
made of it an exhaustless source of enjoyment. 
The light-hearted, exuberant spirit of youth cre- 
ates for itself unbounded pleasure out of the 
most untoward things. 

M. Camolet’s uncompromising criticisms on 

1 

accent and manner, and the hard study required 
to memorize the long paragraphs, were wonder- 
fully lightened by numerous private rehearsals, 
where there was much original rendering, and 
amusing variations from the printed text. 

The play was finally performed with great 
credit to the pupils and their teacher, — and with 
sufficient eclat to gratify their ambition or van- 
ity. However valuable may have been their in- 
creased facility in the use of the French language, 
the development and balancing of individual 
talent, and the gain in mental flexibility and ap- 
plication, not less valuable was the lesson they 
learned, — to do one’s best in the work put into 


The French Play, 


45 


the hand, — to throw one’s energies and interest 
into the given task, so as to stamp a real charac- 
ter upon it, and thus infuse a vital element into 
common work, — this is to lift daily life above a 
low level, and clothe it with a spiritual meaning. 
Thus there will be no dead days ; — there will be 
no sluggish, indifferent labor. 

And they saw the necessity of correctness and 
attention in details, if one would secure a com- 
plete, finished performance. • 

During the rehearsals, it seemed a little thing to 
Sarah that she should take care to beat her eggs 
after the manner of a cook, and a trifling thing 
to Daisy that she should tap her snuff - box 
and take her pinch just as an old lady would do 
it ; but each realized the significance of such little 
thin2;s in the finished result. So slow are we to 
see that we build our lives out of little deeds ; — 
that each must be perfect in its place, or we have 
no days rounded into completeness, no work that 
will bear the eye of the great Task - master. 




CHAPTER y. 

FEOM SCHOOL TO FAEM - HOUSE. 

ITH the close of the term, Daisy’s 
school - days unexpectedly ended. 
She expected to spend the vacation 
with her father at his home in Ver- 
mont. This was not '' going home” for Daisy. 
Her mother died before her recollection, and her 
mother’s only sister had taken the little one to her 
heart and home. When, a few years after, her 
father had married Mrs. Lewis, a widow with 
two children, Daisy had still remained with her 
aunt, though her father sometimes talked of 
brin<2:ino^ her home. As other children were 




From School to Farm - house. 


47 


added to his family, and Mr. and Mrs. El wood 
were so unwilling to spare Daisy from their child- 
less home, and were doing so much more for her 
than Mr. Seymour could do with his growing 
family, the coming home had been deferred till it 
ceased to he a definite plan. 

Mr. Seymour cherished an unspoken tender- 
ness for the child of his dead Marion, but their 
intercourse had not been frequent and familiar 
enough to make Daisy feel at home with her 
father. Immediately after his second marriage, 
he removed to Illinois, and the families had seen 
little of each other, though, as business required 
occasional journeys East, he was not a stranger 
to Daisy, but she was shy and quiet in his pres- 
ence. During the preceding year, the older 
brother, who had lived on the home farm in Ver- 
mont, had made some exchange of property with 
Daisy’s father, so that the old home came into 
his possession. Satisfied with western experi- 
ences, he closed his business there and brought 


48 


Daisy Seymour, 


his family back again to the New England farm. 

For the last two years Mr. and Mrs. Elwood 
had been traveling in Europe, leaving Daisy un- 
der Mrs. Lawrence’s care. During this time she 
had seen her father oftener, and made one pleas- 
ant little vacation trip with him to New York. 
Now, in her comparatively homeless condition, 
she turned with a more clin^^ino: tenderness to her 
family relations and the old home. 

” Hemlocks” had been the Seymour homestead 
since Daisy’s great grandfather built his log cabin 
among the trees which gave the name to the place, 
and made a farm out of the wilderness. She had 
dim recollections of visits there, while her grand- 
mother lived, — the dear old lady with her placid 
face and snowy hair, for whom Daisy was named, 
whose old - fashioned ffold beads were amons: her 

o O 

"jewels,” from whose well - worn Bible she still 
read her morning verses, sometimes turning over 
to read upon the blank leaf, in old - fashioned 
letters, the name, — " Hannah Bryant Seymour,” 


From School to Famn - house » 


49 


— in her grandmother’s handwriting ; for her 
real name was not Daisy, but Hannah. She was 
such a sweet blossom of a child, that her aunt 
used to call her their little Daisy, and so the name 
grew with her out of childhood till she seemed to 
have no other. Then she liked it better herself, 
and, at school, girls so easily take to pet names 
that she never heard herself called Hannah ex- 
cept when her father came to see her. Perhaps 
the unfamiliar name helped to keep a little dis- 
tance between them. 

She was looking forward with ])leasant antici- 
pations to the long summer in the country home. 
The old- fashioned house, with the rambling out- 
buildings, large barns, the cluster of hemlocks, 
the pine grove beyond, the grassy slopes, the 
clover fields, the orchard, the waving corn and 
the grand old moiftitains in the distance, were like 
visions of romance or dreams of poetry in her 
memory. 

The last days of the term came to an end. 


50 


Daisy Seymour, 

The gladsome maidens, with regrets and antici- 
pations, tears and smiles, exchanged their last 
promises of friendship and correspondence, kissed 
their last kisses, and scattered out of the warm 
nest where Mrs. Lawrence, like a mother - bird, 
had sheltered them with brooding tenderness and 
care. How few shadows of thought or anxiety 
or sorrow rested on their faces ! The present was 
too overflowing, the future too promising, for 
them to linger regretfully over the past. Yet 
they had not closed their school year without se- 
rious thoughts and sober retrospects. The days 
had gone from them forever. Their record was 
completed. It was too late for anything to be 
changed or added. The golden moments had 
each received an ineffaceable mark from their 
hands. The yesterdays can not be revoked. 
To - day blossoms on their grave. The rosy 
mornings which ushered them in shine ever more 
unclouded. The cold gray sunsets in which they 
buried themselves, can not now be retouched with 


Froyn School to Farm-house, 


51 


crimson and gold. Just as they were fashioned 
while passing, so they remain. 

The journey was full of novelty and interest to 
Daisy. Her traveling experiences were quite 
limited, and as she now regarded them, very lit- 
tle - girlish, as she had gone only with her uncle 
and aunt. It was quite another thing to be a 
companionable young lady traveling by Iier- 
self, and she enjoyed the degree of deference and 
attention with which her presence was recog- 
nized. ” After all the dear, good times at Mrs. 
I^awrence’s we were only children there ; now I 
am — myself; and "myself” filled quite a space 
on the car seat, and felt quite independent and 
self- poised. 

With what dignity she repelled the courteous 
attempt at conversation made by the middle - aged 
gentleman who, for a time, occupied the seat with 
her ! How straight she looked out at the window 
when the two young men opposite turned their 
heads in her direction ! How daintily she drew 


62 


Daisy Seymour, 


up her dress and dropped her veil when a crowd 
rushed in at a way station ! With what guarded 
propriety she moved and looked ! As for talking, 
of course she could have nothing to say to stran- 
gers. But she came near being childish once. 
She had kept her ticket very carefully held be- 
tween her thumb and finger, ready for the con- 
ductor’s inspection, and assumed a nonchalant air 
as if one who was used to traveling had no need 
to worry or fiutter about anything ; but after a 
while, as she became more used to the situation, 
she forgot to watch herself in her interest in watch- 
ing others, or in enjoying the picturesque scenery 
through which they were whirling. 

J ust as she was gazing at a fine view of the 
mountains, the conductor touched her arm. 
"Ticket, Miss.” She started up. Ticket? 
Why, to be sure ; where was it? She had not 
the slightest idea. What a flutter she was in ! 
It was nowhere to be seen. Neither in her hand, 
her pocket, her book, her basket, nor on the 


From School to Farm - house. 


53 


floor. Here was a dilemma. Her cheeks grew 
hot, and finally tears of annoyance and embar- 
rassment filled her eyes as she protested she had 
a ticket once, but could not tell where it was. 
What should she do ? That another ticket could 
be obtained anywhere except at the station from 
which she started, never occurred to her, nor that 
there could be any way of going on without a 
ticket. She already saw herself put out of the 
cars, dismayed at her forlorn situation, and cov- 
ered with shame, because she had lost her ticket. 

Is not this your ticket. Miss?” said a pleas- 
ant voice over her shoulder. ”It was on the 
floor under your seat.” 

How she grasped it. It was the same gentle- 
man who had made the fruitless effort for a little 
civil talk with her. And there was an amused 
twinkle in his eye that made her drop her own in 
confusion, and murmur her " thank you” some- 
what inaudibly. 

I think she came to the conclusion that it 


54 


Daisy Seymour. 


was not necessary to arm one’s self against com- 
mon courtesies, nor to wear one’s dignity and 
discretion with a supercilious air. She was a 
little less harsh in judging two giddy girls, who, 
in their high spirits, seemed to have forgotten 
that they were not the only occupants of the 
car. 

In the afternoon, her father joined her on his 
way home from New York, and she felt quite 
will) ns: to be relieved from takino: care of her- 
self. Toward sunset they reached the station at 

B , where they were to take a stage coach for 

Manton, ten miles from the railroad. The 
chano’e from the car to the coach was deli2:htful. 
How she enjoyed the ride over the hills ! Mr. 
Seymour took her to an outside seat with him, 
and the mountain air brought a fresh color to her 
cheeks, a sparkle in her eye, and an elFervesence 
in her spirits that quite transformed her from the 
staid, quiet girl her father had usually found 
her. 


From School to Farm - house. 


55 


She listened with a kind of amazed enjoyment 
to the talk of the men on the box with the driver. 
She had been used only to the culture and taste 
of the parlor and school - room. There was an 
originality of thought, a crisp directness of speech, 
a pith and vigor that were quite refreshing. A 
lady’s presence keeps the talk fit for a lady to 
hear, even among rude men. When Yankee 
speech or Yankee quirks of thought touch the 
soberest subject, there is a humorous vein running 
through it all. The stage -top and mountain air 
dissipate artificialities and affectations wonder- 
fully. Daisy forgot her boarding-school airs, 
and even grew enthusiastic over the horses, as 
the driver called to them with such a ring in his 
voice, — " Come, boys ! ” ” Hie, Tom ! ” Up, 
Cherry ! ” 

The golden sunset was already fading into 
twilight when they reached the little village hotel 
where Harry met them with the large farm 
wagon, into which they were soon stowed, trunk 


56 


Daisy Seymour, 


and all. The falling shadows began to creep in- 
to Daisy’s spirits, and she shrank into herself as 
she realized a sense of strangeness and loneliness. 
She was so used to the lively, affectionate girls, 
and now a great silence seemed at once to fall on 
her. Harry was a stout, good - natured boy of 
fifteen, with an eye full of possible mischief, and 
he looked so shyly and curiously, and yet teas- 
ingly at her, that she began to feel that boys 
were terrible. . Besides, she was tired. Her ex- 
hilaration had subsided, and her eager anticipa- 
tion changed into a shrinking dread of meeting 
strange faces and coming into an unfamiliar 
home. 

Pleasantly and affectionately Mr. Seymour 
brought her into the family and gave her a 
daughter’s place, and kind and cordial was the 
welcome she received ; yet after the late supper 
she was glad to plead fatigue and go to her room. 
And shall we confess it ? She had a good cry 
there, like a homesick child ; she could hardly 


From School to Farm-house, 


57 


tell for what ; but it did not seem as she thought 
it would. 

A sound sleep and the sunshine of the morn- 
ing brightened her wonderfully. Her room was 
simply furnished, but everything was so fresh and 
neat, and the view from the window so delightful, 
that she made her toilet with great satishiction in 
her surroundings. A dainty bit of girlhood she 
was, as she stood, in her white dress and blue rib- 
bons, framed in the open window, her clear eyes, 
golden hair and fair face aglow with the beauty 
of the morning. A very pretty picture Mr. Sey- 
mour thought, as, coming across the grassy yard, 
he looked up to the window with an affectionate 
”good morning.” But when, a little later, she 
sat down at the breakfast table, she felt somewhat 
out of place, — almost as if she were a foolish but- 
terfly. All the household gathered at the same 
table for their meals, and the plain but substan- 
tial and abundant food, was served to the hired 
man and kitchen maid with the same attention as 


58 Daisy Seymour, 

to the others, and they all carried in their dress 
and manner a brisk air of work, as if the day 
meant something more than looking pretty. 

Mrs. Seymour and her grown - up daughter, 
Lucy, as well as Mary, the ” hired girl,” wore 
their dark print dresses, the girls with no collar 
at the throat, and they had a stirring, bust- 
ling look, as if they had done half a day’s work. 
Harry and the hired man sat with their loose 
shirt sleeves, as they had come' in from their 
morning work. Dick, and Kobbie, and' baby 
Bell were the children by the second marriage. 
Dick was seven ; Bobby, five ; and Nell, two 
years old. They were bright, interesting chil- 
dren, but overflowing with mischief and untrained 
in manners. Bobbie had already torn his ging- 
ham blouse, and Nellie’s apron was, as Lucy 
said, fit for the wash - tub, though she had put 
it on clean when she dressed her.” 

Mrs. Seymour - was a faithful, true-hearted 
woman, — one to be sure of in a hard place, but 


From School to Farm-house, 


59 


had no winning brightness or attractive taste in 
her appearance ; and as Daisy took her seat be- 
side her, she felt a little afraid of her, and her 
embarrassment was not lessened by Harry’s fun- 
loving gaze or Lucy’s keen look of observation 
and criticism. 

Lucy was an important member of the family, 
— capable, enterprising and high-spirited, quick 
of temper and quick of speech. Her sparkling 
eyes, black hair, rosy cheeks and trim figure did 
not need a fanciful dress to set off their prettiness ; 
but there was such a lack of grace and sweetness 
that Daisy never thought of admiring her. 

The breakfast was a great trial to Daisy. Ac- 
customed to the fastidious etiquette of Mrs. Law- 
rence’s table^ the free and easy manners here 
made her ill at ease. She could not make the 
little two - tined steel fork take the place of the 
large silver one, and was quite lost without a 
napkin. An immeasurable distance had come 
between her and everybody else. But the food 


60 


Daisy Seymour. 


was so fresh and good, there was such a hearty, 
substantial way of taking hold of things in the 
generous supply provided and used, that, after 
all, the breakfast deserved her hearty apprecia- 
tion. 

The attempts at conversation with Daisy were 
rather unsuccessful. There were few things of 
common interest to them, and Daisy was too 
young and shy and fastidious to adapt herself 
readily to her new surroundings. 


0 



CHAPTER VI. 

SETTLING INTO NEW WAYS. 

f llAT first week in her father’s house 
ild hardly be called a pleasant one to 
lisy. The family were kind and at- 
itive, and the freshness and novelty 
of the new scenes and occupations enlivened each 
day with continual interest ; but her delicate 
taste -and carefully trained manners did not at 
once fit into the new circumstances, and so made 
uncomfortable drawbacks to her enjoyment. 

When she went into the dairy, with eager in- 
terest in the butter and cheese, the smell was dis- 
agreeable, and the buttermilk spattered over her 
cambric dress. As slie tripped out over the fragrant 


62 


Daisy Seymour. 


white clover to gather rose - buds with the dew 
fresh on them, her dainty slippers were wet 
through, and her skirts drabbled in the heavy 
dew. She was afraid of the solemn, staring oxen 
and the frisky young cattle. The staid cows 
shook their heads at her, the geese chased her 
with hisses, and the farm dogs growled or barked 
around her. In - doors and out, she felt out of 
place. There was so much to be enjoyed, and 
she felt so eager to be enthusiastic over the coun- 
try delights, yet she felt as if all her anticipations 
had been mere poetry and sentiment. 

The real country life was prosaic, sternly real, 
and unsoftened by culture and grace. Life ap- 
peared in its rough-looking dress, while she was 
used to the refinement and taste of conventional 
fastidiousness. But she had a sensible, resolute 
spirit, and though her dainty equilibrium might 
be disturbed by trifles, she soon poised herself in 
practical good sense and fitted into her place and 
surroundings with tact and good nature. She 


Settling into new Ways. 63 

was inexperienced and ignorant in many ways, so 
she made some mistakes; but she learned to ap- 
preciate excellence and loveliness where polish and 
style were wanting. She found that people may 
eat with their knives and not be boors, — that they 

s 

may set the rules of grammar at defiance in their 
speech and yet say something worth hearing. 

She comprehended something of the growth of 
iron sinew and iron will, of strong arms and stout 
hearts, through the hardy training of real work; 
and saw that the honest, faithful, industrious 
worker in real tangible tasks, gathers up forces 
from the very material that he handles, and 
strengthens and 'balances his mind and body into 
firm compactness and vigor. 

Daisy did not see all this clearly ; she only 
felt it dimly, slowly growing stronger and clearer 
in her perceptions ; but she learned to make her- 
self useful in household tasks, in helpful interest in 
others’ work, in merry frolic with the children, 
frank, courageous parrying and return of Harry’s 


64 


♦ Daisy Seymour, 


mischievous attacks, and affectionate, thoughtful 
attentions to her father and mother. Many of her 
little niceties seemed such surface refinements, 
that unconsciously she became more simple in her 
manners, less fastidious in her personal comforts, 
and more frank and genial in her sympathies and 
enjoyment of others. 

Those beautiful summer mornings awoke new 
life in her whole being, and the sweet influences 
of nature started many a slumbering germ into 
vigorous growth. The fields, woods and hills 
filled her hands and her heart with new treasures, 
and, unconscious as the plant that grows, she 
developed into a freer, stronger, fresher girlhood 
than her dreams had ever pictured to herself. 



CHAPTER VII. ‘ 

HARRY. 

y Dear Helen:— 

“ I wonder if you have kept 
all your promises of writing to the girls? 
It is not so easy to get away from everything 
else and sit down to write letters, when nothing 
from morning to night reminds you of it, as it 
was in our school - room when books and writing stared at us 
all day, pencils seemed to grow to our fingers, inkstands and 
sheets of paper had such a social affinity for each other, and 
our eyes did not see further than the maps, charts and black- 
boards on the walls. 

“ Here, my writing desk gets dust - covered, my books are in 
undisturbed order, my hands are used to the broom and hay - 
rake, and my eyes look off to the ‘ everlasting lulls.’ 

“ How is it that, when we have the most to inspire us, we 
have the least to say? There at school, with the girls about 
me, with only brick walls and a little patch of sl^y, I used to 
write fanciful compositions, poems full of fiowers and' birds 
and brooks, and long letters full of descriptions of our rather 



i 



66 


Daisy Seymour. 


monotonous life, and opinions and theories on all possible 
subjects ; while here, with the blue mountains, the woods full 
of birds and flowers, and such sunrises and sunsets as I never 
saw before, I don’t think of writing poetry. I only seem to 
feel the beauty and poetry, and with none of the girls to talk 
with, I scarcely write a letter. I am afraid I am growing lazy ; 
but it is only for vacation, and I do enjoy it so much. 

“ We bad such grand times during the ‘ Haymg.’ I used to 
take the children out when they were raking up the bay, as 
the little ones calculated on a good frolic then, and a ride to 
the barn on the top of the load ; so father found me a light 
rake, and I used to rake with Harry, and then father would 
put me on the hay -rack with the children, and, half- buried 
in the sweet clover blossoms, we would roll along as the slow 
oxen plodded over the flelds to the barn. It always happened 
towards sunset, and the freshly - mown fields were so smooth 
and golden in the light, the hay so sweet, and everything so 
free and joyous, that I wanted to run and jump with the 
boys. 

“ Harry (a sort of brother,) and I are very good friends, 
though I was dreadfully afraid of him at first. He laughed at 
me because I tried to eat my custard pic Avith a little fork, 
made me believe the geese were swans, and chased me over the 
■yard with a green snake, and all such things. Boys are a tor- 
ment till they find out that you are not afraid of them. Though 
I Avas mortally afraid of the snake, of course. I knew Harry 
would not hurt me, so I plucked up courage and stood still 
Avhile he dangled it over my hand. . It did not feel good, I can 
’ assure you ; but Harry saw that I was plucky after all ; and 
since then I have learned a good many curious things of him 
about snakes, toads and other interesting creatures. Besides, 
he knows all about birds, and Avhere all the wild flowers grow. 


Harry. 


67 


I have found ever so many new specimens here. But he do n’t 
care much about the botanical names, and laughs about my 
learned talk, though I think he really knows more about them 
than I do. 

“ You should see the children. Dick and Eobbie are mis- 
chievous, wide - awake boys, a plague and a comfort at the 
same time ; but little Nell is just a dear pet always, — a blue - 
eyed, curly -haired darling. I shall miss her so much when I 
go back to school. I do n’t like to think of school. It is so 
pleasant, just as everything is now, I should like to live on 
always just so. Here comes Nellie teasing for a story; so 
good-bye. With my love, 

Daisy. 

Story after story had charmed tlie little maiden 
till the fringed lids drooped sleepily over the blue 
eyes, and the sweet voice murmured a dreamy re- 
sponse to the marvelous feats of Jack the Giant 
Killer or the pitful fate of Cock Robin, and Daisy 
sat musing in a dreamy reverie, watching the 
western sky with the distant hill - tops outlined 
cleai’ly in the mellow light. Who shall say what 
the young girl dreams of, looking with wistful 
eyes out into the future, so full of wonder aud 
expectation ? 

"ZT-w-jznah! I sa^, IHa-nnaliH 


68 


Daisy Seymour, 


called a ringing voice through the house. Daisy 
smiled, and then pursed up her little mouth 
decisively as the noisy step came nearer. 

” Child alive ! why did n’t you answer ? ” said 
the boy, as he came suddenly upon her. 

" Did you call me? ” said she, demurely. 

" Who else should I mean ? Here I ha ve raced 

% 

up and down, and screamed myself hoarse, and 
you sitting here, pretending not to hear ! ” 

” My ears don’t hear H-u-nnah, you know.” 

The boy teased her by the most aggravating 
pronunciation of her name, though the family had 
grown into the way of calling her Daisy. 

"Anyway, they are big enough to hear any- 
thing, and I guess they would hear Hunnah if 
that was their only chance of getting the ride that 
is waiting for you. Come, Lightfoot is all ready, 
and he won’t stand.” And Harry swept away 
her writing materials and stirred her up in such 
a breezy way, that in a few minutes she was in 
the buggy, settling her hat with a final touch, 


and buttoning her gloves as he gave the rein to 
the impatient horse. He was going to the Post 
Office for the evening mail, then they would drive 
around Willow Pond, and home in the moon- 
light. 

"Why will you persist in saying Hunnah? 
There is no need of being boorish in one’s talk. 
You might at least say Hannah, if you choose 
that name.” 

" Well, I declare ! next thing you will object 
to saying rooster, and bossy. Why can’t you 
call things as folks about you do ? I guess they 
always called your grandmother Hunnah, and I 
reckon she was pretty much a lady, if she did 
work in a farmer’s kitchen. I hate namby - pam- 
by talk, as if one was afraid to let out his mind 
in a straight-forward fashion. I’ll be hanged if I 
do n’t. I ain’t a - going to tie up my tongue with 
fine-spun words and girls’ fancies. By golly, I 
won’t I ” 

" Now, Harry, if you talk so I sha’n’t ride with 


70 


Daisy Seymour, 


you.” And the girl looked and moved as though 
she really thought of vacating her seat. 

"Whoa! Would you like to get out, miss? 
Allow me to say that the road is rather dusty, 
and I guess your city boots would ache before 
you got to the end ; but howsomever, if you 
won’t ride, I’m your obedient.” 

Daisy had a great mind to get out, but she was 
afraid Harry would drive off and leave her, so 
she put on her most dignified expression, and 
with severe gravity answered the saucy boy : 
"Harry, I .expect you will be a gentleman, at 
least to me.” 

" Heigho ! we are getting on our high - heeled 
shoes, are we? Now see here. Miss Prink ! Boys 
step heavier and talk louder than girls, and I 
reckon they have stronger stuff in them. Anyway, 
if they are good for anything, they are rougher 
and more careless. They can’t put on such little, 
nice ways without forever thinking about it and 
holding in ; and deliver me from a boy who walks 


Harry. 


71 


on a crack all the time. He needs to have the 
starch taken out of him.” 

” But, Harry, I do n’t see why you need to be 
incorrect and coarse in your talk, and use by-words 
and slang phrases.” 

” No more you can’t, because you never think 
that way. But I tell you, it thinks itself in me, 
and comes out itself, too, just as naturally as this 
horse frisks and prances.” 

” But you have put the bits in your horse’s 
mouth, and just back there, down the hill, you 
held him in with all your strength. I saw how 
you pulled on the reins. It is a pity if a boy 
can’t drive himself, and hold in when he is going 
down hill.” 

” Now, Daisy,” and Harry faced round to her, 
" do you think a fellow is going down hill when 
he lets drive a square word instead of a round 
one, and pitches in for an honest, straight - going 
way of calling things as they are, and saying 
what he means ? ” 


72 


Daisy Seymour. 


”I think,” said she, unflinchingly, when a 
boy do n’t try, by self - control and effort, to make 
himself better, he will grow worse. If he lets 
himself alone in his carelessness and uncouthness, 
he will never be a gentleman. Certainly, if, as 
he says, it is not in him, he will have to put it 
there or go without it. I do n’t see why a boy 
need be bristling all over with disagreeables. I 
think he is unkind and ungenerous when he takes 
pains to annoy others, and does n’t try to soften 
his roughness and refine his coarseness in man- 
ners and character. He is neither manly nor 
gentlemanly.” 

” I hate a prig,” said Harry, sharply. 

"Are you so afraid of being called one, that 
you do n’t dare to be civil and courteous and cor- 
rect in language and manners ? That is a cowardly 
way of shirking out of what is due to your own 
self - respect and improvement, and common 
politeness to others.” 

The boy gave a low whistle, and started the 


Harry, 


73 


horse into a brisk trot. Tliey rode on silently 
for some time. After a while, he said, — ” Daisy, 
I think it is a pity you were not a boy.” 

” Why? ” said she, innocently. 

Because you would make such a nice one.” 

Daisy was silenced. Presently she said, — 
” Harry, I suppose 1 do n’t know all about it, 
and I should not set myself up to find fault with 
you ; but I am sure if you think about it and try, 
you will make it out right yourself.” 

” Peck away at me, Daisy. I deserve it bad 
enough, I know. Perhaps I’ll think' of it 
some day.” 

They rode into the village, and drew up at the 
office, where men and boys were congregated to 
talk over village matters, read the papers and 
discuss the news. A knot of men stood on one 
side talking over the loss of a steamer, but they 
did not w^ait to make any inquiries. Daisy had a 
letter with a foreign post - mark. She was glad, 
for she had not heard from her aunt for a long 


74 


Dctisy Seymour, 


time, and there were letters for her father, and 
newspapers, — quite a package of mail matter. 

How pleasant their ride was around by Willow 
Pond in the early twilight, with the full moon 
rising in the east. Either Daisy’s lecture, or 
the quiet, softening influence of the evening, put 
Harry into one of his best moods, and the brother 
and sister talked on with more sympathy and 
earnestness than usual, touching some of the 
deeper and more hidden interests of their lives. 
And when Daisy, in her simple way, said, — 
” Harry, I do so wish you were a Christian,” he 
did not give her a bantering reply, but, with a 
serious face, answered, — ” I wish so too.” 

" And will you not be one ? ” 

" That’s the trouble. I wish I was already 
one. The becoming one is the hard part. I 
can’t get through the process. If one could just 
take a jump into it without having to * experience 
religion.’ ” 

” It seems to me the jump is just resolving to 


75 


be one. I do n’t think we get through it at all 
in this life. It is something that keeps going 
on.” 

” But one has to start, I suppose. If I was 
over that part, I could keep on.” 

"Mrs. Lawrence used to tell us,” — and Daisy 
hesitated a little ; she felt shy and incompetent 
to talk about it. 

"Well, what?” 

" That if we really wanted to be Christians, 
and asked God to show us how and help us, that 
sincere prayer to Him might be the first step.” 

" I do n’t suppose I have got so far as that.” 

" But you will pray for it ? ” 

" Perhaps you had better do it for me ; you 
know how.” 

" I will,” said 'she, timidly ; " but you must 
ask for yourself. I can not love God for you.” 

" ^^"0 ; there is where it pinches. I must come 
straight up to it myself, and I am never quite 
ready.” 


76 


Daisy Seymour, 


” But when will you be ? ” 

” Oh, I do n’t know. Perhaps when Percy 
comes ; he will put me through ; ” and he whip- 
ped up the horse, putting an end to the talk. 

Daisy was glad and sorry. Glad that they had 
spoken at all about it, and that Hjfiny had drop- 
ped his bantering enough to speak simply and 
sincerely, sorry that the talk had been so unsatis- 
factory. 



CHAPTER VIIL 



THE GREAT SHADOW. 

HILE Mr. Seymour opened his 
letters and looked over the news- 
papers, Daisy read her letter from 
her aunt. She had written long ac- 
counts of places and people that she thought 
would interest Daisy, and then, in a paragraph 
added later, said they had suddenly changed their 
plans, Mr. Elwood’s business requiring his pres- 
ence at home, and they had engaged their pas- 
sage in the steamer Illyria to sail in two weeks. 

Daisy exclaimed, in delighted surprise, that 
her aunt was coming home in two weeks, hardly 
noticinof that her father was reading the account 




78 Daisy Seymour, 

of the loss of a steamer till the name, "Illyria,” 
caught her ear. 

" Why, that is the vessel auntie is to sail in.” 

" When ? ” asked Mr. Seymour in a quick 
voice. 

Daisy looked at the date of her letter. It was 
written some weeks ago, having been delayed in 
some way. 

" Heaven help us ! ” ejaculated Mr. Seymour, 
clasping Daisy in his arms. 

Daisy’s eyes dilated. She did not quite under- 
stand. " Only ten saved ! ” repeated Mr. Sey- 
mour. . 

Poor Daisy ! 

" My child, we will still hope,” said her father. 
" The next mail may bring more particulars, with 
the names of the passengers.” 

But Daisy could only sob in bitter grief. All 
her future seemed a dark blank in the sudden 
blow. She listened silently as they tried to com- 
fort her, talking over the probabilities, and with 


The Great Shadow, 


79 


trembling lips answered their good-night as she 
went up to her little room. 

An hour later, Mrs. Seymour found her still 
weeping almost hysterically, lying just as she had 
thrown herself, without undressing, upon the bed. 
Gathering her in her motherly arms, Mrs. Sey- 
mour soothed and quieted her with a few simple, 
strong words of love and trust, commended her 
to the tender, pitying Comforter, undressed and 
put her to bed as she would a child, and, sitting 
by the bedside, stroked her hair softly till the 
exhausted child fell asleep. 

With the morning came the indistinct conscious- 
ness of something dreadful. She awoke early in 
the first flush of the sunrise, and, as the sad fact 
grew clearer in her thought, the strength of the 
morning came to her with blessing. 

“ She was as a child that cries, 

But crying, knows his father near.” 

With a simple faith she turned to her Saviour, 
thinking to Him rather than formally praying. 
She crept out of bed for her little Testament, and 


80 


Daisy Seymour. 


turned over to the comforting texts, saying them 
softly to herself as she gazed out at the eastern 
sky ; and though the tears •would come, there 
was no longer the tumult of weeping, the aban- 
donment of grief. When Mrs. Seymour stole in 
to see if she were still sleeping, the fair face turned 
on the pillow to meet her with a pitiful smile 
struggling to the lips, and a calm, trustful light 
in the still tearful eyes. 

They followed her with a tender wistfulness 
through the day. She was no longer demonstra- 
tive in her grief, but it was as if a great silence 
had fallen upon her, or some mysterious presence 
brooded over her. 

The evening mail brought the full list of pas- 
sengers. Alas! Mr. and Mrs. El wood were 
among the missing. The days that went on 
were very hard for Daisy. One can reach hights 
of Christian exaltation and faith, can climb to 
some mount of transfiguration, but it is not so 
easy to remain there. Human nature does not 


The Great Shadow, 


81 


easily keep the high places it can attain. And 
it seemed to her as if she had to learn over 
and over the same things, fight the same battles 
each day, and continually comfort herself anew 
under the same weight of sorrow. 

After any great strain on our nature, the 
nerveless, dull, leaden state in the reaction from 
such tension, is often harder to bear than the sharp 
pain, hard fight, or overwhelming grief. We 
rally all our forces to meet the pressing emergency 
or threatened danger, and then sink down pow- 
erless, all our strength gone out of us. At such 
times, how great is the Christian’s comfort of 
resting in God. 

Mr. Seymour soon went to the city to inquire 
into the circumstances and gather such details as 
could be gained concerning Mr. El wood’s loss, 
and attend to some business affairs involved in 
his sudden death. Here he found a very unsat- 
isfactory condition of things. 


82 


Daisy Seymour, 


Mr. Elwood’s partner had proved dishonest, 
and the discovery of the involved condition of his 
pecuniary affairs had led to Mr. Elvvood’s sudden 
decision to return from Europe. An investigation 
was made at once, but it was too late to retrieve 
the consequences of the long continued misman- 
agement and dishonesty. The business records 
were in inextricable confusion, and all the prop- 
erty that could be clearly shown would not meet 
the liabilities of the firm. It was a long time 
before the affairs could be settled. The family 
mansion, the home of the El woods through two 
or three generations, was sold, and all available 
property given up to the creditors. 

The greater part of Daisy’s little patrimony, 
inherited from her mother, was involved in the 
general loss. Thus, with the death of her uncle 
and aunt, and the loss of her small property, all 
her plans for the future were destroyed, and she 
was left to a permanent home with her father. 

All this came by degrees, however, and cir- 


The Great Shadow, 


83 


cumstances and events continued to bind her 
more strongly to her new home, till gradually she 
became so rooted to the place that only a severe 
wrenching of the clinging fibers would have loos- 
ened their hold. 

First came the sickness of little Nellie. She 
was a bright little fairy, full of beauty and grace, 
a constant delight to Daisy’s eyes, while her 
sweet, winning ways made her the joy of her heart. 
They had been the best of friends from the begin- 
ning, and in the busy household, Nellie had fallen 
more and more under her care till the child quite 
depended on her. 

In the sultry August days, tlie little joyous 
creature wilted like a delicate flower. The little 
springing feet that seemed to have unseen wings, 
lagged slowly after the robust boys in their child- 
ish play, while’ the pleading voice begged pite- 
ously, — "Do n’t run away from me.” The eyes 
grew heavy, and the cheeks lost their fresh color 
or flushed into bright crimson. She would climb 


84 


Daisy Seymour, 


into liaisy’s lap, with touching patiepce, com- 
plaining only, — ” Nellie is so tired ; ” and nest- 
ling down quietly, neither asleep nor wide awake, 
would listen to Daisy’s talking and singing as if 
the sound of the dear voice soothed and rested 
her, while she showed little interest in the story 
or the song. Then she grew sicker, and then 
very sick. The old doctor shook his head as he 
watched the changing phases of the disease, and 
the household machinery stood still as the family 
moved about with hushed voices and softened foot- 
falls. 

Daisy was an unwearied, tender nurse, and the 
child liked best to take the medicine from her 
hand, and feel her soft touch on her burning face. 
The heavy eyes would follow her beseechingly as 
she moved about the room, and the piteous 
moan was checked as she bent over her with 
loving words and tender kisses. 

Daisy did not stop to realize anything, only 
doing from one hour to another what came to her. 


The Great Shadow, 


85 


except when her mother sent her away to rest and 
sleep, or her father insisted on a walk or a drive 
for a breath of fresh air. She always yielded her 
place to Mrs. Seymour unresistingly. The anxiety 
and trial of the clinging mother - love had made 
Mrs. Seymour’s face sharp - set with suifering, but 
with strong self - control she held back her cry of 
agony while there was still something to be done. 
She had known trial and sorrow ; all the good 
things of her life had been dearly bought or over- 
shadowed with a burden or grief, tier reticence 
was sometimes patient endurance or silent cour- 
age. 

Nellie was a ray of unclouded sunshine. Her 
days were too full o*f work and care for her to pet 
her child much, or give herself the indulgence of 
an absorbing enjoyment in her. Many a hard- 
workino^ woman stints herself in her sweetest 
joys and tenderest sympathies. She hardly af- 
fords to take comfort with her children. Such love 
has at times a deeper intensity from its repression. 


86 


Daisy Seymour. 


Daisy had something like a child^s wonder and , 
fear in this dreadful anxiety and foreboding of 
death ; the whole experience was so new to her. 
Mrs. Seymour had followed her loved ones before 
as they went down into the dark valley ; yet to 
her, as to us all, the messenger seemed ever to 
come in a new and strange way. But they were 
hardly thinking of anything except to care for 
the child’s wants, and watch and wait. There 
come times to us when we do not attempt to 
measure things. We just go on. After a while 
there is an end, and then we stop to take breath 
and look back. 

The days and nights came and passed. The 
little sufferer tossed in excited delirium or lay in 
stupefied insensibility. Then the violence of the 
disease abated, and they watched with trembling 
hope for the new life to come back to the racked 
and exhausted body ; but the little spirit had 
gone too far away across the river to be recalled. 
The further shore was nearer to it. It no longer 


The Great Shadow. 


87 


felt the strong hold of the clinging hands, nor 
heard the earnest entreaties of the loving voices 
on this side. The light from the other world 
shone brighter, the songs of the angels were 
clearer, the voice of the Infinite Father .called 
with a tenderer persuasion ; — the child was going 
home. While they still fancied the eyelids 
trembled with returning strength, and the breath 
grew less fluttering through the sweet lips, she 
was already gone. 

Gone ! Gone where ? After all that God’s 
word makes us sure of, those gone from mortal 
siofht seem to have gone out into utter darkness 

o o 

and mystery. We know so littje about the other 
world that it does not always seem real. Nobody 
comes back to tell us of its secrets. However 
close we may be to it, however near to the time 
of our own entrance there, our eyes can not see, 
our hands can not touch anything in it. The 
barrier must be impenetrable, or those who have 
loved so dearly here would sometimes give a 


88 


Daisy Seymour, 


token to those left behind, we have such a yearn- 
ing to know about it ! What a wistful longing 
comes to the heart of those who have just fol- 
lowed loved ones so tenderly and devotedly to the 
end, and all at once they are gone, — one mo- 
ment here, and then as utterly removed from us 
as if body and soul were swallowed up in mys- 
terious destruction. "That where I am, there ye 
may be also.” In that word we may rest with- 
out fear and with strong assurance. The pres- 
ence of the Saviour is the surety for life and all 
good things ; yet for us who are left behind, 
even that will often seem shadowy and unreal. 

But even now I sit at my window- and look 
out upon these leafless trees, stretching up their 
bare branches and waiting patiently and trustfully 
for the spring to bring the resurrection of life to 
them, when they shall be clothed anew in living 
green ; and they seem to me like human preach- 
ers rebuking my impatient questioning of the 
future. 


The Great Shadow, 


89 


Who does not picture the days that followed ? 
How many households have known a similar ex- 
perience ! How many hearts carry the graves of 
their dead with a softened but unforgotten grief! 

The last look had been taken at the shrouded 
form, the unostentatious funeral service was over, 
the kind-hearted neiglibors, having expressed their 
sympathy in simple country ways, had gone, and 
the afflicted family were left alone with their 
grief. • 

There was almost a feeling of relief after it was 
all over ; and the anxiety, excitement and sorrow, 
which had held them without rest for such a time, 
seemed to have gone down into the grave, and 
the glorified presence of the angel child to have 
come into their hearts. 

The terrible loneliness of the home from which 
one has gone out, leaving a place forevermore 
vacant, must come to the stricken ones. The 
brooding shadows will rest upon the silent rooms ; 
the trailing garments of the death angel sweep 


90 


Daisy Seymour, 


along with muffled rustling through the twilight 
shadows ; yet, when we have given our dead into 
the bosom of mother earth, we look up and rec- 
ognize their living forms and radiant faces bend- 
ing down upon us from above. While the life- 
less body still lay in the darkened chamber, or 
we saw it shrouded in the narrow coffin , the bewil- 
dered eye did not see the loved one in the cold 
clay, yet could not look away to find the spirit 
while the form was still with us. The grave 
hides and yet gives back our dead in a new and 
glorified life. 

That purple sunset brought a holy calm to the 
household at Hemlocks. This experience of sick- 
ness and death went down deeper into Daisy’s 
heart than anything had gone before. It was- 
real, solemn, yet full of a hope that fastened up- 
on eternal things. It brought the next world 
nearer, and linked ” the life that now is ” with 
that which is to come ” in more visible connec- 
tion. ' The death of her uncle and aunt had been 


The Great Shadow, 


91 


a sore grief ; yet, in her long separation from 
them, she did not feel the hand of death so near 
her when they were taken. Here, the little child 
had been taken out of her arms, and Death had 
almost touched her. She felt closer to the 
Good Shepherd who had taken the lamb to His 
bosom. 


/ 




CHAPTER IX. 

A NEW CHORD STRUCK. 

WEEK later Daisy had strolled 
out after tea to enjoy the sunset and 
to forage among the early apple trees. 
Fruit never tastes sweeter than 
when gathered in the first flush of ripeness, 
whether the fingers plunge down through the 
cool grass where it nestles half hidden, just as it 
dropped mellow and juicy from the generous tree, 
or the hand stretches up venturously among the 
laden boughs, trying the softness of the rosy 
cheeks, if they dent under the thumb pressure and 
loosen from the yielding twig with willing boun- 
ty. 



Daisy was reaching up for some Porter apples just above her liead. Page i) J 







I 


f 


/• 



I 




* * 




I 







I 


I 



A New Chord jStruck. 


93 


Daisy was reaching up for some Porter apples 
just above her head. She stood on the topmost 
bar of the fence, poised on one elastic foot, one 
hand grasping an overhanging bough to steady 
herself, while the other was catching at the foli- 
age beyond to pull the branch with its mellow 
fruit within her reach. The airy lightness of the 
figure and grace of the attitude, the fair, eager, 
upturned face, with the rippling curls falling back 
in golden waves and ringlets aglow in the sunset 
light, caught the eye of a young man sauntering 
up the lane. No winged Mercury, just springing 
from the earth into a heavenward flight, could 
have kindled the eye or thrilled the heart with a 
more exquisite airiness and grace. 

The youth stood still in surprise and admira- 
tion. Had his eyes suddenly created this beau- 
tiful vision ? or had he lost his way and come 
suddenly into some classic vale, where gods and 
goddesses still wandered among the trees? 

That she was a flesh and blood reality he was 


94 


Dalny Seymour. 


soon convinced ; for, with a venturesome spring to 
grasp the apples, she lost her foothold and swung 
free of the fence, still clinging to the apple 
bough, which, bending and then breaking with her 
weight, she dropped like a fairy and sank down 
into the grass with a laughing exclamation at 
her own mishap. The young man was rather 
bashful, and, satisfied that the maiden needed no 
knight to come to her rescue, and confident that 
one who browsed among the apple trees in that 
free way must be domesticated at Hemlocks, he 
was sure his curiosity would be gratified in good 
time ; so he walked on to the house and sur- 
prised the family by his unexpected arrival. He 
liked to come in upon them in this quiet way. He 
liked the long, pleasant walk from the village, 
after the day’s travel and the first glimpse of the 
real home life, when no preparation had shaded 
its strong outlines, or softened its vivid colors, 
or destroyed the fresh naturalness of its every- 
day dress. No surprise could miss a welcome. 


A New Chord Struck, 


95 


for Percy hud his own sure place in all their 
hearts. 

The eager gladness with which one after an- 
other greeted him, was sobered as they thought 
of the little joyous darling who used to climb into 
his arms, with her innocent ways and sweet 
caresses. The lips sometimes shrink from utter- 
ing the thought that lies heavy in each heart, and 
grief builds a barrier of reserve in the confidence 
of close friends. So a silence would fall upon 
the talk, and a restraint check the inquiries, — 
each a little afraid to touch abruptly on the sa- 
credness of sorrow ; but Mr. Seymour, as he 
grasped the hand of the young man, almost in his 
first welcome, alluded in so simple and natural a 
way to the little voice which he missed in their 
greetings, that then they wondgred at the shrink- 
ing hesitation which they had felt. Percy had a 
tender heart, and he loved Nellie; yet, the rustle 
and whirl of the great world still hanging about 
him, his spirits were only toned down, not op- 


96 


Daisy jSeymour. 


pressed, with the weight left by the sight of 
Nellie’s suffering and death, and the constant 
missing of her presence. 

Daisy came loitering in at dusk -fall, startled 
at the presenee of a stranger. When Mr. Sey- 
mour introduced her to Percy, she looked so 
quiet and unpretending, and answered in such a 
shy, quiet manner, that he could scarcely recog- 
nize her as the same person who had surprised 
him into such enthusiastic admiration. It was as 
if the glow of light had suddenly gone out of a 
beautiful picture, or the rosy clouds had faded 
into a faint flush or dead gray. 

He did not seem to notice her much ; so she 
soon recovered from her startled surprise, and 
was listening with interest to his varied talk, when 
he turned suddenly to her. 

’"Miss Daisy, are you fond of apples?” 

So, then, he had seen her ! 

"Very,” said she, laconically, with a deepen- 
ing color and twinkle of the eye. 


A N'ew Chord Struck, 


97 


” Are you in the habit of swinging on the 
apple trees? ” 

" Sometimes. It is very good exercise ; bet- 
ter than any gymnastic apparatus,” glancing at 
his full chest and broad shoulders which he carried 
with a gymnast’s conscious pride. 

"We will try it some day, and see which 
trains muscles best ; shall we ? ” o 

" No ; you are too heavy ; you will break the 
branches.” 

" And you do n’t ? ” 

"It was only a little one, with no apples on it,” 
said she, depreo^itingly. 

" Have you not learned. Miss Daisy, that we 
should be content with what lies within our reach ; 
that, aspiring too high, we lose even the good 
already in our hands ? ” 

" But I did get the apples.” 

"• And had a fall ! ” 

" Mr. Percy, is not the best always a little 
above us, so that we must make an effort to gain 


98 


Daisy Seymour, 


it? If we succeed in reaching it, should we mind 
any fall caught in the endeavor ? The good 
once secured, who counts up the mishaps in the 
struggle ? ” 

” That is, we don’t mind the scars if we win 
the battle.” He glanced at Daisy’s hand. There 
was a long scratch across it, marked by the rough 
twig. 

" Cela depend. If the battle is worth fight- 
ing,” said she, a little ruefully. 

"That is the worst of it,” said he, partly to 
himself. "We do n’t look our foes in the face 
and measure the combat before we begin. We 
-are already in the fight before we see the foe ; 
whether he is worthy our mettle or not, there is 
nothing for us but to strike out, trusting to God 
and our good right hand.” 

The young man spoke a little bitterly, as if 
there was a sore spot within ; then, turning to 
Daisy, he said : " If the tufted grass had con- 
cealed sharp rocks instead of inciting to brave 


A New Chord Strucic, 


9.9 


efforts, you might have enforced the prudent 
counsel, ' Look before you leap.’ ” 

" If I were always hunting for possible dangers , ‘ 
I should never venture on anything. Certainly, 
if I had looked around and seen a young man 
staring at me, I should not have climbed after 
the apples.” 

” And we should have missed our little spar- 
ring. So you browse among thoughts and prin- 
ciples as well as among apple trees ? You have 
been turned loose in as good pasturage as Charles 
Lamb’s sister. Do you never catch a fall there, 
and do you always secure what you reach 
after?” 

fail a great many times, and my conscience 
and pride get hurt ; but I do n’t know yet wheth- 
er I shall secure what I am reaching after, for I 
am still trying. I do n’t see how we can ever 
leave off efforts to grow wiser and better.” 

” And to prick and goad other people out of 
their lazy loitering into a ^ double - quick’ on the 


100 


Daisy Seymour. 


duty march, ” said Harry, who had been listening 
a few minutes. " I tell you, Percy, she is a regu- 
lar thorn, sticking into your conscience in the 
most unmerciful manner.” 

"Now, Harry, you know 1 do n’t mean to be 
such a disagreeable fault - finder.” 

"No, I suppose you can not help it. You just 
keep being so good yourself, that a fellow al- 
ways feels as if he had done something bad, or 
was just a-going to, when you are ’round. And 
then you know, you are apt to preach a little. 
Here you have begun on Percy.” 

" I think he began on me. I am sure I have 
not lectured him.” 

"No, Miss Daisy ; you have only told me not 
to mistake a mishap for a failure, and to estimate 
success by the thing gained, not by the cost. 
Now let me help you eat the apples.” ^ 

They drew around the open windows where the 
moonlight shone in, and the family chat bright- 
tened with mutual inquiries, personal histories, 


A New Chord Sti'uck, 


101 


playful bantering and critical or complimentary 
comments. 

The next morning Daisy prinked before the 
glass with unusual care. She was greatly inclined 
to put on a white morning dress, but she feared' 
Lucy would laugh at her. She had left off a 
fancy morning toilet some time ago, finding it 
hardly suitable for the ordinary morning occupa- 
tions, and she soon learned to take care that her 
-personal habits should not make unnecessary 
labor for others. Hitherto, she had not realized 
how much work the gratification of her fastidious 
tastes had cost, — that the indulgence in habits of 
nicety and elegance in one’s personal appoint- 
ments, involves somebody’s care and hand - labor. 
When such work had been done by servants who 
were paid for doing those very things, and done 
for the most part away from her observation, she 
had not realized that her spotless white dresses 
and dainty ruffled skirts were due to an efficient, 
well - paid laundress, as much as to her own 


102 Daisy Seymour, 

neatness and taste. At Hemlocks, where all 
shared in the household labors, Daisy saw some- 
body’s work made harder by her dainty dressing, 
and a little experience in ironing tucks and ruffles 
and puffs, made her willing to spare her own fin- 
gers as- well as other’s ; so, while still neat and 
tasteful in her morning appearance, she did not 
wear white cambric, pique and blue ribbons to 
wash dishes and dust rooms. So she turned away 
with a sigh from the tempting white suit, to se- 
lect her v.ery prettiest print, — a white ground 
covered with little blue sprays, a becoming collar 
with a simple knot of blue ribbon for the throat, 
and fastened up and dropped down ringlets in 
most careless but coquettish devices. Then she 
hastened down to spread the breakfast table, 
which was one of her duties. Very carefully she 
arranged the dishes, rubbing a plate now and then 
to make it shine with an extra polish, choosing 
the brightest knives and disposing the plates to 
cover any stains upon the table - cloth, then stand- 


A New Chord Struck, 


103 


ing off to take a view of the whole effect, while 
she secretly wondered if Percy would notice the 
improvement in the table arrangements since she 
had the care of them. 

Simple - hearted Daisy ! She had yet to learn 
how often little efforts to please seem wasted, — 
how frequently the tasteful eye and skillful hand 
have wrought their pleasing effects only to be 
unnoticed and unappreciated. 

The family gathered at the breakfast table, but 
Percy and Harry were missing. They had taken 
an early bite of bread and butter, and gone off on 
a fishing excursion. Daisy did not see why men 
and boys must needs tramp off in such aa unciv- 
ilized manner, roughing it in the woods or on the 
pond, getting their feet wet, their clothes torn and 
their faces sunburnt, all for a few fishes, when 
they might buy fish any day. 

She should have thought that the first day 
Percy was at home, he would care more to enjoy 
the family in the house, or take a drive, or walk 


104 


Daisy Seymour, 


about the farm in a gentlemanly way. While 
she was wondering at Percy’s bad taste, ^ and feel- 
ing as if somebody had been slighted, she forgot 
to spread* Bobbie’s bread and butter; and the 
hungry child clamored to Lucy on the other side, 
who was looking after Dick’s wants. 

” Daisy, I should think you might see to one 
of the children.” said she, sharply. 

" Here, Bobbie. I ’ll take care of you. 

” But you have got something in your ears, 
Daisy, so you can’t hear this morning.” 

” I hear you now plain enough. Do n’t tease 
any more. Here is a slice of bread for you 
and Daisy attended to him very faithfully for the 
next few minutes, though she did wish children 
were not so greedy, and that Lucy and mother 
would take more pains with their behavior at 
table, they were so ill-mannered, would take 
such large mouthfuls, daub their faces and 
hands, and eat so fast. 

Daisy’s equanimity was ruffled. She did not 


A New Chord Struck, 


105 


feel perfectly good - natured. Things had not 
gone on according to her programme. 

Breakfast over, Mrs. Seymour said to Daisy : 

” 1 was going to ask you to go down to the low- 
er garden after the dew has dried a little, to pick 
the beans and corn for dinner ; but I see you * 
have on a clean light dress, and you won’t like to 
drabble it. Perhaps Lucy can get time after she 
takes care of the butter.” 

” Oh, no,” Daisy said, quickly. ” I do n’t 
mind changing my dress. I can go as well as 
not.” 

She liked to go out into the fields in the fresh- 
ness of the morning, and the house seemed es- 
pecially tiresome and disagreeable that particular 
morning. She soon changed her pretty dress for 
a plain, dark one, already showing various stains, 
and marks of useful wear, wiped the dishes, 
dusted the sitting - room and put her own room 
in order ; then, tying on a large sun -bonnet, 
which, though less picturesque, protected her 


106 


Daisy Seymour* 


ftice and neck much better than a hat, she 
started off with a large vegetable basket. Dick 
and Kobbie called after her to let them go with 
her. Now Daisy w'ould much rather go alone. 
She liked her own thoughts, and the boys were 
always bothering her with questions, or bickering 
and teasing each other. Still, she could not re- 
sist their eager, affectionate teasing, and they 
ran racing down the lawn, over into the field to 
the lower side where was a large vegetable garden. 
Kicking and jumping and shouting, they galloped 
through the grass with many a tumble and 
scream, chased each other about, and cut up end- 
less antics that had no meaning save as the out- 
burst of a child’s buoyant spirit. 

Daisy moved about among the tall bean - poles 
laden with the luxuriant vines, the red - veined 
pods gleaming out among the leaves, the long 
green corn leaves rustling with the stir of air, and 
the soft silk tassels nodding their golden fringes. 
She was some time gathering the beans, and then 


New Chord Struck. 


107 


turned to the corn ears, parting the green husks 
to see if the growing kernels were filled out 
enough, or had become too hard for eating. A 
sudden scream from Robbie caused her to set 
down her basket and rush to the rescue. The 
little fellow had plunged into the marshy mire 
down by the brook, and, floundering about in the 
reeds and water and mud, was thoroughly fright- 
ened and bedraggled from head to foot. Away 
went Dais.y’s delicious dreaminess of thought and 
fancy. She soon brought the boy to firm foot- 
ing, soothed his crying, then led him back to the 
house with Dicky trotting after, made Robbie once 
more presentable in a fresh suit of clothes, and, 
setting the boys down to amuse themselves with a 
box of puzzles, went back after her basket. 

Slowly returning with it hanging heavy on her 
arm, heated and tired, she would have been glad 
to be left in peace ; but no, the boys must help 
her shell the beans. Away they threw the puz- 
zles, and ran for dishes, and then teased to have 


108 


Daisy Seymour, 


them filled. There was nothing left for Daisy to 
do but to take them with her out to the shady 
kitchen porch, where she sat upon the door-step, 
pulling off her sun - bonnet and pushing back the 
tangled curls from her burning fhce, while the 
boisterous little fellows settled down upon the 
grass, where they busied their fingers among the 
beans, overturning their dishes, mixing the full 
and empty pods, spilling the beans or throwing 
them into each other’s faces, till Daisy was glad 
to tell them stories to keep them quiet. 

She had just finished one marvelous history of 
adventure, which made the boys stare with wide- 
open eyes, their dishes of beans tipped over un- 
noticed, when a manly voice over her shoulder 
asked : ” Can’t the big boy shell beans and 
hear the stories, too? ” and then the owner of the 
voice was stretched lazily on the grass at her feet, 
and a pair of dark eyes looked mischievously into 
her face. Taking possession of one of the dishes, 
he proceeded quietly to fill it with fresh pods, and, 


A New Chord 8trucTc, 


109 


with assumed ignorance and awkwardness, made 
the boys show him where to find the beans and 
how to get them out, till Daisy found her tongue. 

Perhaps he thought she felt embarrassed be- 
cause he had overheard her child’s story. Instead 
of that, she was overwhelmed with a sudden 
consciousness that her face was red, her hair 
matted with perspiration, her dress unbecoming, 
the be - draggled skirt spread out conspicuously 
over the door - stone, displaying her old boots 
covered with mud and gravel. Perhaps her mor- 
tified vanity would have been soothed if she had 
read the young man’s thoughts as he glanced up 
into the flushed face, with the moist curls cling- 
ing about the forehead and temples, watched the 
little fingers moving in and out among the rosy 
bean pods, the plump, white arm with the sleeve 
tucked above the elbow, and the symmetrical 
figure which even the plain dress and Lucy’s 
large, soap - discolored apron could not hide. 
Whatever he thought, he only joined the boys in 


110 


Daisy Seymour. 


teasing for another story. There was no use in 
attempting to escape from her dilemma ; she 
could only make the best of it ; so she gathered 
up her courage and told the story of Horatius, 

“ Who kept the bridge so well 
In the brave days of old.” 

• Explaining the circumstances and simplifying 
her speech to the boys’ comprehension, they 
listened with eager faces to the description of the 
armies and the hand - to - hand figiit, as the brave 
men kept the enemy at bay, and held their breath, 
as, with eyes kindling and face glowing with 
enthusiasm, she described the heroic deeds of those 
old warriors, the- crashing of the bridge under 
the heavy ax -strokes, the plunge of Horatius in- 
to the surging Tiber, and his safe arrival upon the 
other shore. Then Percy brought out ” Ma- 
caulay’s Lays of Pome,” and read the spirit stir- 
ring ballad. Lucy came out and carried away the 
beans to cook, and Daisy forgot her old dress, 
tangled hair and the boys leaning their elbows on 


-4 Hew Chord Strucic. 


Ill 


her lap ; and as Percy looked up now and then 
into her eloquent face, the words glowed with a 
new fire, and his voice melted into richer, fuller 
tones as he read how Horatius looked on 
^ “ The white porch of his home,” 
and prayed to " Father Tiber ” to spare his life ; 
or his words rang out strong and clear as his 
heart stirred with kindred daring at the story of 
the brave fight and fearless plunge. 

The reading was scarcely finished when Lucy 
called to Daisy, asking, — " Could she set the 
table?” 

Like one in a dream Daisy moved away, as if 
her eyes were still gazing into the turbulent Tiber 
to see the crest of Horatius appear above the 
surges, or her ears were still listening to the 
rapturous cheers that welcomed him up the bank. 
But dinner was imperative, and she soon came 
back to real life. Percy and Harry v^ere super- 
intending the cooking of their fish, which they 
had insisted on eating for dinner, as they were 


112 


Daisy Seymour. 


” savagely hungry,” and all heroism and senti- 
ment slipped out of sight while potatoes were 
peeled, beans buttered and cucumbers sliced. 

But the day was already crowned in Daisy’s 
thoughts. Alas, for us, that we can not crown 
all our days with a golden aureole ; — that we can 
not lift them above their prosaic literalness into 
an ideal truth and beauty ! Alas, for us, when 
all illusions have melted away, and we no longer 
idealize people or things ! 

To aspire after a grand impossibility makes 
’ grand results possible to’ us. The aspiration and 
endeavor that grasp beyond anything that we see 
realized, lift the soul to a higher level than it 
could otherwise have reached. Our eyes must 
see visions, or they will be blind to the noblest 
realities. The imagination must conceive the 
fairest ideals before the beautiful creations are 
wrought in form and color. 

“ Let none henceforward shrink from daring dreams, 

For earnest hearts shall find their dreams fulfilled.” 


New Chord Struck, 


113 


And if our own lives have a hidden glory shin- 
ing through them from the ineffable light that 
our eyes have caught glimpses of, toward which 
our faces are turned, may not other lives have 
their ideal meaning as well as their prose transla- 
tion ? Is it not a clear - sighted rather than a 
delusive vision which sees the possibilities in 
another'’s nature, interprets the act by the en- 
deavor, and measures what the hand has wrought, 
not by the imperfect execution, but by the ideal 
conception shadowed forth ? Eyes that look deep 
enough to see what lies underneath, vision that is 
delicate enough to catch the faint tracery of the 
exquisite design in the unfinished pattern, sight 
that is spiritual ’ enough to see the angel impris- 
. oned in the block of marble, — these are the best 
interpreters of other lives ; these work out the 
most masterful forms of excellence and truth in 
their own. 

There are a thousand shades of meaning in a 
a truth. The soul is too ethereal to be daguer- 


114 


Daisy Seymour. 


reotyped completely in single acts. The noon- 
day sun reveals every nook and corner of the 
landscape, yet the sunrise and sunset coloring 
of the same scene shows us new beauty. The 
white ray of light is good for every - day pur- 
poses ; but who would like to miss always 
the prismatic colors concealed therein? Artists 
seek to represent the ideals of the faces they paint, 
and these pictures are often truer to the person’s 
own consciousness or the perception of those who 
know them best, than any exact copying of feat- 
ure and complexion. 

In dealing with people and facts, may not the 
heart and imagination add some delicate coloring 
which the cold thought missed ? interpret some mys- 
tic tracery which appears to the eye only like rag- 
ged lines? Of course truth and fact must be held. 
One should never pervert, nor distort, nor take a 
one - sided view for the sake of effect. But what 
is truth, or fact? The bald, rugged outline of an 
object, or the same object with color and shading? 


A New Chord Strucla 


115 


Is not what I am, to be measured a very little by 
what I try to be ? Is not aspiration as well as 
success a part of myself? Things can not always 
be honestly separated from their accessories. A 
clear, keen eye needs a warm heart to make the 
vision correct. ” Light, bring no blindness ! ” is 
an invocation appropriate to all who set their 
faces to the pursuit of truth. 

Let no harsh hand brush away a young girl’s 
dreamy sentiment or innocent fancies, as if they 
were gossamer cobwebs. Let no strong mid - day 
glare rudely dispel the rosy mists pr many - hued 
clouds with which her young eyes drape common 
objects. 

“ I slept and dreamed that life was beauty, 

I wofee and found that life was duty ; 

■W as my dream then a shadowy lie ? 

Happy the girlhood that develops under a 
wise and tender love, and learns both 

“ To clothe the palpable and familiar 
With golden exhalations of the dawn,’^ 

and find in every-day duty the fulfillment of her 


116 


Daisy Seymour, 


prophetic dream ; — blessed the daughter who 
purified and spiritualized by the tenderness, 
sweetness and beauty of her sentiments and the 
ideal excellence of her aspirations, grows stronger 
in the effort to realize them, nobler and better as 
they are wrought into action. 

As mere sentiments and fancies they may 
degenerate into weakness and affectation ; as mere 
fastidiousness and taste, they may grow into 
selfishness and superficial culture ; but sinking 
down into the unsounded depths of the slumber- 
ing soul, they vivify, ennoble and refine the real 
elements which enter into the essence of character, 
infuse a gracious influence into the germs of vital 
thought and ea^rnest action, and crown with spir- 
itual beauty the simple but intensely real daily 
duties that grow out of the human relations that 
God has ordained. 



CHAPTEE X. 



EYES OPENING. 

ERCY Willard was one of the 
family, yet not of their blood. His 
father was an early friend of Ikir. Sey- 
mour, and at his death, left his boy un- 
der his friend’s guardianship, his mother having 
died in his infancy. The child had grown up 
without a mother’s care and affection, and his 
sensitive nature, turned back upon itself, became 
morbid ; so the silent, somewhat morose boy did 
not win the interest and attention of strangers. 
Sent early to school, he had passed from one 
class to another, making creditable progress in 
his studies, but never distinguishing himself by 


118 


Daisy Seymour, 


any marked’ success in scholarship, nor mak- 
ing many friends among his playmates. Ke-. 
pressed in the outgoings of his nature, there had 
been a precocious growth of thought and feeling 
in silence and loneliness. 

A slow fever, with a lingering convalescence, 
having interrupted his study for some time, the 
boy seemed so debilitated, and showed so little 
ambition or interest to recover lost ground or 
take up any work again, that the Principal of the 
school wrote to Mr. Seymour advising him to 
take him from school until his health and en- 
ergy were restored. Mr. Seymour came to see 
Percy, and took him home at once. He appreci- 
ated Mr. Seymour’s kindness, and was too cour- 
teous in manner not to make an effort to respond 
to the kindness and interest expressed ; still it 
was plain that he preferred to be let alone. Shrink- 
ing within himself, he repelled sympathy and 
affection. After a time the home influence melted 
the sensitive reserve and softened the forbiddino; 


119 


Eyes Opening, 

shyness. Mrs. Seymour was kind, though not 
especially tender; Lucy was a frank, sincere 
girl, but did not force pity upon him nor demand 
sympathy for herself ; so the strange plant was 
left to root itself in free, natural growth in the 
healthy soil, and, after a time, the fibers stretched 
out vigorously, and the clogged currents flowed 
free and strong. 

He drifted through the transition period from 
boyhood to youth with many risks on the hidden 
rocks and treacherous currents, but, balanced by 
his own self - respect and refined tastes, and 
upheld by the restful affection and confidence of 
the family who made him at home with them, 
he did not run loose from wholesome restraints, 
nor go far in any downward course. During the 
first year of his college life, he was a trial to their 
patience and affection, and a source of anxiety 
and discouragement, swinging restlessly from the 
old moorings ; neither home influence nor Chris- 
tian training seemed strong enough to keep his 


120 


Daisy Seymour, 


head and heart from false philosophy and recreant 
conduct ; but in the beginning of the second year 
the Spirit of God moved upon the hearts of those 
young men, and the work of grace went on until 
two - thirds of the students became decided Chris- 
tians. Percy was one of the first converts, and 
from that period he had been growing and de- 
veloping in strength and earnestness, a comfort 
and hope to his friends. 

Graduating from college at the age of twenty, 
he decided to spend two years in teaching before 
commencing his professional study, partly from 
pecuniary needs, and partly to settle his plans 
more definitely and make his choice more delib- 
erate and judicious. Earlier in his educa- 
tional course he had looked forward to law as his 
profession, and it still offered many inducements 
to his judgment and taste, as well as to his am- 
bition, yet, after his conversion, he heard some- 
times a voice saying, — ” Go work in my vine- 
'i^nrd.” He was not quite readv to listen to that 


Eyes Opening, 121 

voice ; he was not sure that God called him to 
that work ; he felt in many ways unfitted for it ; 
he shrank a little from it. So he waited, — put- 
ting off the decision from time to time, studying 
and working for the man, not for the profession. 
Intellectually, this was a gain, developing his 
mental powers with a balanced strength and se- 
curing a wider range in his attainments. But 
this unsettled state of mind was not comfortable or 
healthy. There were conflicts within, — varia- 
tions in his spiritual strength and enjoyment ; — 
there was a weakening of his Christian force and 
vigor, — a consciousness of cowardly shrinking 
from momentous decisions and stern responsi- 
bilities. 

It is not always easy to decide a question of 
duty ; but when we put off settling the question 
because we are a little afraid of it, or unwilling 
to meet the conclusions, we lower the tone of our 
whole Christian character. When we are entirely 
willing to accept the will of God, and ready to 


122 


Daisy Seymour, 


avail ourselves of any means to throw -light on 
our course, then we may wait with patience and 
trust, drawing -nearer to God even through the 
darkness. 

Percy had taught a year in a Classical School, 
and accompanied a family in a summer tour as 
traveling tutor for the boys. They were going 
abroad for a few months, and proposed to him to 
continue with them in the same relation. He 
had decided to accept the situation, and was to 
sail in three weeks, for an absence of four 
months. 

The three weeks passed very pleasantly. Daisy 
wondered that they had not found their quiet 
life very stupid before he came. Everything 
waked up and put on a new character.* Harry 
showed a more manly earnestness under his mis- 
chief. The boy had more feeling and principle 
than she had given him credit for. And she 
began to like Lucy with a remorseful tenderness. 
The two girls had not been attracted to each 


Eyes Opening, 


123 


p- 


other. Yery unlike in character and taste, 
Lucy had no patience with Daisy’s little alFecta- 
tions, vanities and fastidiousness ; and Daisy 
shrank from Lucy’s quick perceptions and honest, 
unsoftened speech, and stood a little in awe of 
her practical knowledge and efficient, resolute 
accomplishment of whatever she undertook. 

Daisy did not know the patience, unselfishness 
and self - sacrifice which had denied herself 
girlish indulgences to share in her mother’s care 
and work, and put off the sweet hopes of maiden 
love to relieve her mother’s burdened hands. How 
could Lucy look on Daisy’s tasteful dresses, white 
hands, winning ways and refined manners, which 
showed in sharp contrast the difference in their 
lives, and not feel as if she herself had been 
cheated out of something of the beauty and grace 
of girlhood? How could she see Daisy’s educa- 
tion, accomplishments and cultivated tastes, with- 
out a painful sense of her own lack, and a bitter 
thought of what " might have been ” had the same 


V 


124 


Daisy Seymour, 


opportunities come to her ? Her slighting appre- 
ciation of Daisy’s culture and taste was in part the 
expression of her own' effort to be contented with- 
out them ; and now and then her tones were sharp- 
ened by envy. Daisy’s patience, sweet temper 
and real strength of character in meeting the 
trials that came to her, and the unselfish service 
she had rendered during these weeks, had soft- 
ened Lucy’s heart toward her, and Percy’s rec- 
ognition of her own faithfulness, truth and trust- 
worthiness showed more of her real worth to 
Daisy. She had a sister’s pride in him, and he 
confided to her his plans, relying upon her 
clear perceptions, good sense and womanly in- 
tuitions. 

It was he who told Daisy of the manly, young 
farmer in Illinois, who had a home waiting, for 
Lucy whenever she could be spared from her 
mother’s home how their wedding had been 
deferred when the family came East, because 
Lucy would not leave her mother, who was 


Eyes 0])ening, 125 

then in feeble health, to the care and labor inci- 
dent to their removal and establishment in their 
new home ; — with what faithful affection she had 
shared in her cares and lifted the burdens from 
her hands. Daisy had not looked for heroism 
nor romance in busy, practical Lucy. A bit 
of real life has so much unsuspected story and 
romance in it. 


CHAPTER XL 


SETTLING INTO HER SPHERE. 



V AISY, shall I find you here when 

I come back? ” 


" I suppose so,” said she. Her lip 
trembled a little. One thing after 


another had kept her from realizing how her 
plans for the future were all gone. In the sum- 


mer she had written to Helen that she would 


like to live there always. She could not 
bear to think of returning to school. Now, 
Nellie, her little pet, was buried on the hill - side, 
Harry was going to board in the village to attend 
school, coming home once a week, and Percy was 
about to leave them ; life looked dull beyond. 


V 


Settling into her Sphere, 127 

The girls had already returned to Mrs. Lawrence. 
Geometry and French and composition were 
keeping them busy, and girlish spirits keeping 
them gay. 

What should Daisy do? She had begun to 
think about it, and the prospect was unsatisfac- 
tory. Perhaps the young man had thought about 
it. Perhaps, out of a generous kindness to the 
girl and thoughtful consideration for the family, 
he had made a plan. Perhaps some other thought 
or feeling was hidden within. He did not explain 
his motives. 

"Daisy, suppose you study Geography, His- 
tory, French, and the Fine Arts with me? ” * 

" With you? Why, you are going away ! ” 
That is the very reason for it. You know the 
plan of our tour, — the jplaces we shall visit and 
the things of interest in those places. It is not a 
mere pleasure tour for me. I am to make it 
profitable and instructive to the boys. It is a 
kind of educational trip to them, and, for that 


128 Daisy Seymour. 

matter, to me too. Suppose you study with us. 
You shall learn from books what we learn from 
sight - seeing, and we will compare notes as we 
go along. You know already more French and 
music and art than I do, and you shall supple- 
ment my superficial acquirements with your real 
acquisitions, and I will illustrate your books with 
pictures and scenes from real life and actual ob- 
servation. Our letters shall be written in French, 
BO they shall be more improving ? ” 

Honest young man ! Was he thinking how 
they would thus be Daisy’s private property ? 

" But I have very few books here.” 

That is no difficulty. My books are to be 
sent here next week for safe storage, until I am 
ready to set up my household goods again ; and 
you may as well keep the moths out of them by 
looking into them occasionally.” 

Daisy’s eyes sparkled. " Oh, I shall like that 
so much.” 

” The books? — and the French letters, too? ” 


Settling into her Sphere. 129 

"Yes,” she answered, hesitatingly. "Only 
I shall not .know what to write, nor how to say it 
well enough.” 

" Oh, yes, there is no trouble. You know we 
are to write about places and people and things 
that are famous. When you find anything of 
especial interest about any such thing, you can 
write it, or call my attention to something you 
would like to see, or tell me what you think of 
things.” 

" But it will take so much time, and perhaps 
mother will need me to do something for her. I 
could not be selfish when I see what Lucy has 
done.” 

" Mother will like it, — she will call it a good 
'plan. She and father were saying, last night, 
how sorry they were that you could not return to 
Mrs. Lawrence and finish your studies ; but 
this year is a pretty hard year, and father wants 
to do something for Lucy if she should be mar- 
ried this winter,” 


130 


Daisy Seymour, 


Lucy married this winter ! ” 

” Perhaps. You see father and mother think, 
now that they have you for a daughter, they must 
give up Lucy, so they are going to invite her to 
have a wedding to celebrate New Year. And 
they want to do what they can to make it a good 
beginning for her, she has been so good to all of 

US'.” 

Daisy did not say anything for a few minutes. 
She was not very selfish, but she was not quite 
sure that she was ready to take a daughter’s place 
in her father’s family, — to do as Lucy had done. 
It was very pleasant to be a kind of visitor there, 
and give her services as free - will offerings, — to 
hold herself a little apart, and with gracious 
affability share in the every - day work. To 
make herself really one of them, and have all her 
services only simple duties for which none owed 
her thanks, — where the best that she could do 
would run up no credits for herself, and her fail- 
ures be faults, — this was a different thing. 


Settling into her Sphere. 


131 


To find a plan already made, and her acqui- 
escence taken for granted, took away all chance 
for generous offering on her part. It is so much 
easier to volunteer a kind action than to do the 
same thing when it is expected or demanded by 
others. She looked ahead a little, and saw her- 
self no longer a child but a woman, with bur- 
dening care and responsibility, and the world a 
very common, work - day world. When she 
looked up, her eyes were full of tears. Percy did 
not understand her. He could not see how the 
young girl’s life narrowed down to the " common* 
round,” the household task ; and that what a 
daughter grows into naturally in her own home, 
would meet Daisy in a different way. Nothing 
in her life had fitted her for it, and she looked at 
all the hard side first. 

Mr. and Mrs. Seymour had no thought of im- 
posing care and work on Daisy. She might have 
trusted their thoughtful kindness, and Percy 
should have waited for the plans to work out 


132 Daisy Beymour. 

naturally, and find Daisy taking up unasked what 
lay before her. 

Her tearful eyes embarrassed him. He could 
not think of anything to say that would not mean 
too little or too much, and was rather relieved 
when the boys rushed in boisterously and put an 
end to the conversation. 

It was very dull for a few days after Percy’s 
departure. Then Daisy’s piano came. Mr. Sey- 
mour had bought it at the sale of her uncle’s 
furniture, and after some delay it arrived at Hem- 
locks, greatly to Daisy’s surprise and delight. 
And there was also a larore box containing: vari- 
ous household treasures and childish possessions, 
which her father had secured for her. There 
were a few books and pictures, a lovely Psyche, 
a little silver vase that used to stand on her aunt’s 
dressing - table, filled with flowers which Daisy 
used to bring fresh every morning, and various 
little articles dear and sacred with home associa- 
tions. She took a mournful pleasure in them, 


Settling into her Sphere. 133 

and made the dear old piano the confident of 
many a sad hour. 

Then came Percy’s books, and she began a 
regular plan of study and reading, arranged with 
her mother for some part of the lighter household 
work as her daily care, and proposed to spend 
an hour a day with Dick and Robbie, beguiling 
them into some book - knowledge. 

The autumn days set in with longer evenings, 
the family plans grew definite, another ” girl ” 
was hired, and Lucy was busy over webs of lin- 
en, dress patterns and trimmings. Quietly the 
family work dropped out of her hands, and with 
pre- occupied air she fashioned garments, or 
measured sheets and pillow - cases. The grain 
was harvested, the apples gathered, the corn 
husked, and things in - doors and out made ready 
for winter. 

There were the golden October afternoons, 
with the dropping nuts and gay forest coloring, 
and then the dreamy days of the Indian summer, 


134 


Daisy Seymour, 


with the falling leaves and biting winter frosts. 

Can there be in nature anything more touch- 
ing than the way in which the leaf goes to its 
grave ? Think of the long preparation made for 
it in the summer, which it never knew ; the care 
with which the hidden life was wrapped and' 
protected through frost and snow ; its joyful un- 
folding and expanding in the caressing air and 
vivifying sunshine of spring ; the wonderful 
freshness, delicacy and beauty of its early life, 
when the birds were sinolns: to it and the breezes 
rocking it in their embraces ; and then the long 
midsummer days when it perfected into a- richer 
color and firmer texture ; in each season true to 
the plan of its life, never failing in the mysterious 
processes and important functions belonging to 
its own existence, and that of the tree of which 
it was a part. And it was only a leaf after 
all ! 

A change comes over it in the dreamy autumn 
days. The life current in its numberless veins 


135 


Settling into her Sjyhere, 

is clogged with foreign substances, its elements 
are changed, and it no longer brings vitality and 
strength. But instead of dull despair, the leaf 
elotlies itself in bright hues, varying with each 
succeeding day in all possible combinations of 
color and shade, and after a while, its work all 
done, its life quite exhausted, it quietly separates 
itself from the tree, not dropping a dead, hope- 
less thing, but, floating airily down, it dallies 
with the zephyrs, turns now this side, now that, 
to catch the sunshine through its still bright 
tissues, till it touches softly the brown earth ; — 
and then only, — decay. Its life is gone out forever. 
Its work is all done,* and well done, too, and there 
is never anything more for the leaf. 

Oh, what if human life were like this ! Pretty 
leaves, floating down so lightly in the balmy air, 
do you know the beautiful, perfect life you have 
lived, and the sad, sad end that comes to it? 
And oh. Mother Earth, how can you take so 
coldly the delicate things that rest on your bosom ? 


136 


Daisy Seymour. 


Could you not fold them away where the care- 
less foot or rough wind could never toss about 
their withered beauty ? 

Cold, unpitying Earth ! Sometimes the tried 
heart longs to stretch itself on the green grass, 
clasp its arms about the trees, kiss the leaves, 
and fling itself into the embrace of our common 
mother. And this is the way 'you take back the 
beautiful things you sent out of your bosom in 
that bright spring - time ! Is this the way you 
will meet us, your human children, when we 
pillow our heads on your breast and lie down to 
our long sleep under the green sod ? Can human 
hearts bear that? How precious is one verse of 
the New Testament compared with all that nature 
reveals to us I 




CHAPTER XII. 

HEART - STRUGGLES. 

AKE care, father ! That is Daisy’s 
ware-house. She lays up goods all the 
week, and then goes to market Sunday 
and peddles them out at an astonishing 
advance on the original value. She has a long 
head at speculation.” 

” What do you mean, Harry? ” Mr. Seymour 
stood by the table, a little paper in his hand from 
which he had torn a small piece. Daisy looked 
up from the other side of the room where she was 
presiding over the boys’ spelling lesson. 

'' Look around in Sunday school next Sunday, 


138 


Daisy 8eymou7\ 


and see five pairs of eyes sticking out from five 
shining faces, fastened on the accents of Miss 
Hannah Seymour’s tongue. And listen for a few 
minutes as she deals out the marvelous stories, 
where the good children all have sticks of candy 
and an extra piece of pie, or else die and go 
straight to heaven, while the naughty ones have 
to go to bed without their supper, and are sure to 
grow up and come to the gallows. And that pile 
of papers there is where she gets the stuff to make 
her long yarns.” 

"Why, Harry, what do you know about it?” 
exclaimed Daisy. 

" Oh, our class is right the other side, and 
sometime's, when we get rather dull, I just listen 
to hear how you spin it out.” 

" For shame, Harry ! As if I only told stories 
to amuse my little girls ! ” 

" And is not that pretty much all you do ? ” 

" No, indeed ! I teach them a great*deal, 
and try to help them to be good.” 


Heart - Struggles, 


139 


” You do, though? I suppose, then, the sermon 
partis rather dry, and do n’t attract iny notice.” 

” I am afraid your own lesson does not at- 
tract your notice much,” said Mr. Seymour. 
” You are too old, Harry, to be an inattentive, 
careless Sabbath school scholar.” 

” I think, sir, I am very attentive. I keep 
one ear turned to Mr. Clayton, and the other 
sharp on Daisy ; so I take a double portion. 
You see, Daisy should not be so interesting.” 

The boy watched her flushed face a moment 
and then came around to her side. 

"I beg your pardon, Daisy. I do like to hear 
your stories, and I can not help listening some- 
times, and watching those faces that look as if 
they would devour you. But do n’t you think 
there should be a little more of the lesson and a 
little less of the story ? ” 

As Harry went out, Daisy turned inquiringly 
to her father. 

” Perhaps, my dear,” said he, ”we do some- 


140 


Daisy Seymour, 


times mistake in trying to make the Sabbath 
school services so attractive, to the neglect of 
definite, practical religious instruction. We seek 
to entertain and interest the children for the pass- 
ing hour, "when our aim should be to do a strong- 
er, better work.” 


”Miss Seymour, we have a young ladies” 
prayer - meeting at the parsonage every Friday 
afternoon, would you not like to come? ” 

The speaker was Mrs. Wingate, tlie minister’s 
wife. 

"Yes, if — I would not be expected to take any 
part?” 

"Not if you are unwilling; but we are always 
glad to have all feel at home with us, and help 
sustain the meeting by some personal share in 
the service.” 

" Oh, I could not do that,” said Daisy, quick- 
ly. Her thouglit w.ent back to the little meet- 


Heart - Struggles. 


141 


ings among the girls, where, even with her own 
school - mates, she could hardly trust her voice in 
prayer. And here among strangers she was sure 
she could not. 

” But, my dear, we love the same Saviour, 
and have common hopes and common interests in 
this matter. Should not our sympathies in the 
same cause open our hearts to each other, that 
we may find mutual comfort and strength ? ” 

"But, indeed, Mrs Wingate, I could not say 
a word. Please do n’t ask me.” 

" Certainly, I will not press it on you. We 
shall be glad to see you, and you can help us 
sing, and perhaps you will feel it a privilege to 
say something for Christ, or give your witness to 
his love in a prayer. I can sympathize with your 
present feeling, for it was at first a great cross to 
me to take any active part in religious meetings. 
A ladies’ prayer meeting was a great trial to me 
during the first year of my married life, but now 
I find it one of my best helps in spiritual strength 


142 Daisy Seymour, 

and enjoyment. I hope you may be led to see it 
in a new light.” 

Daisy thought about it during the next few 
days. Could she not overcome her shyness, and 
in the presence of others acknowledge her Saviour? 
A natural reticence in regard to her most sacred 
affections made her decide that it was not her 
duty to force her secret emotions into expression 
for others’ ears, and that to pray in the presence 
of strangers would be only a mechanical utter- 
ance of words which would be a mockery. She 
was under no obligation to overcome the sacred- 
ness of private experience, or the delicacy of 
personal interests and emotions. She might at- 
tend the meeting, but she could take no part in 
the services. 

She ventured to ask Lucy if she never went to 
the ladies’ prayer -meeting. No, Lucy had been 
too much occupied with home cares to spare the 
time, and it was not often convenient for any one 
to harness the horse or go with her, as the men - 


Heart - Struggles, 


143 


folks were generally busy ; but Daisy could go 
just as well as not. Now the wagon was always 
sent to the village Friday afternoon to take Harry 
home, and Mrs. Seymour was very glad- to have 
Daisy go, and liked to have her form acquaint^ 
ances and have common interests and sympathies 
with the young people. 

So Daisy went to the prayer - meeting. At 
first it seemed formal and embarrassing to her, 
contrasted with the half - hour prayer cireles at 
school, where everything was so natural, familiar 
and earnest. She joined in the singing, listened 
to the reading, and then, as one after another of- 
fered a prayer or spoke some brief word of coun- 
sel or comfort, or requested some special petition, 
she forgot that she was a stranger. * She re- 
alized how much she had missed Christian 
sympathy and intercourse during these long 
weeks. Her heart was drawn out to those about 
her, her reserve melted away, and when the 
young lady who had charge of the meeting asked 


144 


Daisy Seymour, 


her to make the closing prayer, after a moment’s 
hesitation, she knelt clown and offered her peti- 
tions with the sincerity, earnestness and devotion 
of a child at its mother’s knee. 


"Robbie, what are you doing? ” 

" Oh, Daisy ! See our paper boats, — a whole 
navy of ships. Ain’t they nice?” 

" You naughty, naughty boys ! Why did you 
meddle with my things ? See; you have cutup 
my whole letter. Oh, what a plague you 
are ! ” 

Robbie began to whimper, sobbing out, — 
"The paper was all written over. lam sure it 
was n’t good for anything.” 

'' Not good for anything ! When I spent all 
last week in writing it ; — and now see here ! ” 
/ nd Daisy snatched up the little boats, pulling 
the. mercilessly apart to pick out bits of the 
carefui. ' written French sentences. 


Heart - Struggles, 145 

The boys began to scream and snatch at 
them. 

” Be still, Daisy ! Let our boats alone I You 
sha’n’t touch them.” 

She rudely pushed away their little hands and 
swept off the fragments into her apron. 

" Mistress of herself, though China fall I ” said 
Harry, maliciously, from the other corner. He 
was always somewhere around when Daisy was 
tormented. 

"Are you there, Harry ? I should think you 
might have seen what they were doing.” 

"Seen what they were doing? Haven’t I? 
They have been as still and happy as kittens this 
last hour, cutting up waste paper while I have 
been deep in Quadratic Equations. The most 
blessed boys I know of, to be so good and let 
their big brother study in peace. Come here, 
you darlings I You shall have a fleet as impos- 
ing as the Spanish Armada. Much you know 
about that, but it was tremendous. Here are 


146 


Daisy Seymour, 


sheets of paper with x’s and y’s flying about 
over them like shot and shell from men of war, — 
a thousand times prettier than Daisy’s sweeps and 
flourishes.” 

The boys were soon comforted and busy again, 
while Daisy looked over her bits of paper despair- 
ingly. Her temper cooled a little, and she be- 
gan to be ashamed. Poor little fellows ! she 
thought. They did not know what they were 
doing. I should not have left it here. It was 
not their fault so much as mine. 

Harry looked across at her. ” It seems to me 
I should not keep my valuable literary productions 
lying around loose for the little barbarians to 
destroy.” 

"Oh, don’t, Harry I I am mortified and 
vexed, and Percy will be so disappointed. I 
shall not have time to write anotlier letter for this 
mail, and I have not missed once before since he 
went away. It is too bad.” And the tears came 
into her eyes. 


Heart ■; Struggles. 


147 


Harry whistled. " I should think you might 
wu’ite a little note in sensible English. I guess 

O O 

Percy would n’t mind it if the French was left 
out.” 

”But that is just what we write for, — for the 
French, and the study in other things.” 

” Oh, it is ? ” And Harry lifted his eye - brows. 
" Well, it is very provoking, Daisy. These little 
shavers have done a vexatious mischief ; but I tell 
you, I will write to Percy and tell him all about 
it. He will be glad of a description of a home- 
scene done in plain English.” 

” No, no, Harry. Do n’t do that ;” and Daisy’s 
cheeks crimsoned at the thought of Harry’s re- 
peating to Percy the story of her vexation and 
cross words to the boys. 

^'You don’t seem disposed to let a friend help 
you out of your trouble, so I will go on and com- 
plete my square.” 

Daisy did feel very much ashamed of herself ; 
. at first, cliiefly because it was so unlady - like to 


148 


Daisy Seymour, 


get into a passion about anything. But when, at 
tea, Robbie began to tell his father how ” hopping 
mad Daisy was at him and Dicky ; just as mad as 
fire,” and then at bed - time, when he said his 
prayers, and, in his childish way, remembered all 
the fiimily, asking God to ” forgive Daisy be- 
cause slie had been a bad girl, and was cross to 
him when he did n’t mean to do any harm,” — she 
felt the difference between mortification over an 
unlady-like act and sorrow for a wrong one. 

The correspondence with Percy was a source of 
great interest and pleasure. She had carried out 
faithfully the proposed plan of study, consulting 
maps, reading from books of travel, studying 
history and art till she felt quite familiar with the 
places which the travelers visited. London and 
Paris, the old German towns, Swiss lakes and 
mountains, Rome and Florence, were no lonorer 
like far - off places, only dreamed of. They were 
real and full of living interest. In the quiet New 
England home, she learned many things of those 


Heart - Struggles, 


149 


foreign places that Percy and his pupils over- 
looked in their rapid tour. 

Percy’s letters, it must be confessed, were often 
hastily written in unscholarly French. His days 
were so crowded with interests, there was so much 
to fill his time and thoughts, that he performed his 
part of the agreement less fixithfully. The days 
passed so rapidly with him, that Daisy’s letters 
came before he looked for them ; — there was no 
waiting and anticipation, and the time for him to 
answer always took him by surprise. She looked 
forward, counting the days before his letters were 
due, and gave study, heart and time to her re- 
plies. 

If a quiet, monotonous life looks to an observ- 
er dull and common - place, from its few objects 
of interest and little variety in work or pleasure, 
a closer acquaintance will show him that those 
few objects assume a greater importance and 
yield a richer enjoyment from their rarity. Ev- 
erything is full of meaning, and has unsuspected 


150 


Daisy Seymour, 


possibilities hidden in it. If we turn it over and 
over, and look at it with eyes not already full of 
other images, we find the shapeless lump full of 
shining gold. The lives that we call dull, may 
press a richer sweetness and more delicate flavor 
out of their vintage than others, in their busy 
hurry, ever tast6, though their vineyards may be 
large and their vines laden with heavy clusters. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

.THE REVIVAL. 

HERE was an unusual interest in 
the subject of religion among the people 
at the village. It was seen first in an 
C awakening. of new earnestness and faith- 
fulness in the church. The prayer-meetings were 
better attended ; there were more to take a part 
in the services ; a sense of personal unworthiness, 
a spirit of devotion, and brotherly love, and 
mourning over unfaithfulness, characterized the 
prayers and exhortations ; the congregation grew 
larger upon the Sabbath ; there was an earnest, 
breathless attention to the preacher, a solemn hush 
during the prayers, and the minister’s lips seemed 


L 


152 Daisy Seymour, 

touched anew with a coal of fire. The Sabbath 
school grew larger, the pupils showed a deeper 
interest in religious truth, and an air of greater 
solemnity pervaded the classes. Here and there 
an inquirer began to ask, — ” What shall I do to ^ 
be saved ? ” The special meetings for prayer 
were appointed and fully attended, evening ser- 
mons were preached to large congregations, and 
a precious season of revival gathered increasing 
numbers among the converts. Many Sabbath 
school scholars and students at the Academy 
came out on the Lord’s side. 

Daisy’s solicitude and prayers for Harry were 
unceasing and earnest ; but, so far from showing 
a deepening interest, he manifested an unusual 
opposition to the whole subject, was petulant and 
bristling at the slightest approach to personal con- 
versation, and set himself with a kind of obdurate 
defiance against any influence that might touch 
him. His father waited with a grieved patience 
to see a different spirit, and not without hope ; 


The Revival, 


153 


for he recognized, under the boy’s assumed indif- 
ference or bitter antagonism, a resistance and 
struggle which shook his whole nature. The 
mother watched her son with intense yearning 
and anxiety. He lingered about her sometimes 
as if to shelter himself in her quiet reticence. 
His irritation and recklessness seemed to soothe 
themselves in her presence, as if he felt security 
from a direct attack, and was sure of a tacit un- 
derstanding of his real feelings. 

Tlie hired man and one of the domestics tilready 
hoped they had become Christians, and each even- 
ing there were some of the himily to go to the 
meetings at the church, which continued to in- 
crease in interest. 

"Harry, won’t you go with us to-night?” 
said Lucy, as she was fastening her tippet one 
evening. 

" No, indeed ! ” said he, brusquely. " It is 
enough to have all the rest of the heads turned. 
I shall look out and not risk mine there.” 


154 


Daisy Seymour, 


" But, Harry” 

''You needn’t 'but Harry’ me,” be inter- 
rupted. "I sha’n’t go;” and he slammed the 
door as he went out. 

" What is the matter with Harry?” said she, 
turning to her mother. " He never used to speak 
so.” 

" When the Spirit of God strives with man, 
all the evil in the heart is stirred up in resistance. 
We can not comprehend the strength of the sin- 
ner’s opposition, nor the working of God’s grace, 
only as we see it in our own hearts. We must 
wait and pray,” said Mrs. Seymour, and her voice 
sounded as though there was a tear in it. • 

Two evenings later, Harry had been unusually 
helpful to finish the "night - chores,” so that the 
rest could go to meeting when Mr. P was ex- 

pected to preach. The family were starting olF, 
except Mary, who stayed to keep house, and Har- 
ry, to whom no one- had spoken about going. 
Just as the wagon was starting, Harry called out, 


The RevivaL 


155 


” Hold on ! I believe I will go along down to 
the village. I want to see some of the boys 
about getting up a skating party for next week, 
and I have a few little errands to do. I shall 
about get around by the time you are through 
preaching and praying and he swung himself 
into the back of the wagon behind his mother. 

"You had better come to meeting with us, 
Harry,” said she. 

" Not I. I am afraid it will catch me if I go 
there. It is bad enough to be prayed about ; 
save me from being prayed at.” 

" Bad enough ! ” 

"Yes, to be sure. Here is Daisy looking be- 
seechingly after me, as if I had a halter around my 
neck and was just ready to be swung off, and 
all the rest of you watching me anxiously as 
if I was going straight to the bad, when I do n*t 
see as I am any worse than I have been all along. 
I think it is real mean to set up a fellow as a 
mark to fire all your pious shots, at.” 


156 


Daisy Seymour. 


" Harry, shaL we stop praying for you, and 
leave you to go your own way ? ” 

” What good does your praying do ? Ain’t I 
going my own way in spite of it? How will you 
help it ? ” 

” God can help it. He can turn the hearts of 
the children of men even as the rivers of water 
are turned. His Spirit can follow you when you 
try to escape from Him.” 

” Then why should I not wait until He does it ? 
What is there for me to do ? ” 

Plis mother was silent. She knew that argu- 
ment would not satisfy a rebellious heart. 

Mr. Seymour turned to Harry. ” Why do you 
sow the grain in the spring ? You can not make 
it grow. Why do you plan to do anything ? 
Why do you ever persevere in effort to accom- 
plish your plans ? Why do n’t you wait for God 
to do it all for you?” 

" Because He won’t do it for me, and I can do 
it myself, — at least I can do some things.” 


The l^evival. 


157 


” Is the God who saves the soul a different 
Being from the One who does all other things ? 
Do His attributes and the laws of your being 
change in the work of conversion, and remain 
the same under all other circumstances ? ” 

” But I do n’t see how it is that you pray to 
Him that He should make me a Christian, and 
then talk to me as if 1 must do it myself.” 

"Very well. Do you see why you should 
ask, — ' Give us this day our daily bread,’ and 
then go to work to get it yourself? Why do you 
set scions in your apple trees ? You can not start 
life in a single twig ? Why do you plan for next 
week’s skating? There are a thousand contingen- 
cies incident to it, utterly beyond your power? 
If your dependence on God doesn’t paralyze your 
will and restrain your efforts in other matters, 
why should it in this? That difficulty does n’t 
trouble you in any other direction. The great 
facts of God’s being and attributes, as Creator 
and Governor of ourselves and the whole universe, 


158 Daisy Seymour. 

and oiir relations to Him as finite creatures whom 
He has made, who derive all things from Him 
and hold all things aecording to His sovereign 
will, — these facts are constant and unchangeable. 
Just so far as they excuse us from responsibility 
and endeavor in any other direction, — just so far 
as they restrain our freedom, coerce our choice 
and make all effort useless, in common, practical 
matters, — just so far do they in religious experi- 
ence, and no fiirther. God moves us through 
natural influences as well as through the direct 
agency of the Spirit. It is the same God working 
in a different way. ' Every good and perfect 
gift is from above, and cometh down from the 
Father of lights, with whom is no variableness 
nor shadow of turning.’ 

” When the soul recognizes its dependence on 
God, it does not create the fact of its dependence. 
It is just as difficult for you to reconcile what 
God does for you and what you do for yourself, 
in the simplest things of every day life, as in this 


The Revival, 


159 


serious and all - important matter. Why do n’t 
you stop all effort in such things, and sit down 
idle, purposeless and inert till you are sure that 
God moves you, or till you settle the question of 
the exact limits of finite and infinite power and 
responsibility ? Why do you ignore all apparent 
contradictions and difficulties in reconciling human 
will and human effort with the divine sovereignty, 
in the comparatively unimportant choices, plans 
and acts of life, and then make them an insuper- 
able objectiom in this momentous question which 
involves your eternal happiness? Do you not 
feel here the same freedom of choice, the same 
power and responsibility? Do you not exercise 
the same natural abilities, though turned more 
directly towards the Infinite One, though myste- 
riously moved by His gracious Spirit? Oh, my 
dear Harry, is it not God who says, — ' Turn ye, 
turn ye, why will ye die?’ and ' Him that cometh 
unto me I will in no wise cast out ? ’ ” 

Mr. Seymour spoke earnestly, solemnly and 


160 


Daisy Seymour. 


affectionately. Harry was silent. As they drove 
into the village, he jumped out at the street cor- 
ner and went down to the Post Office. Mrs. 
Seymour sighed. She had hoped that he would, 
after all, go to the meeting. 

The evening sermon was simple, instructive 
and impressive, founded on the story of the 
prodigal son. It seemed as if the sinner’s heart 
must be melted and drawn to the loving Father. 
■After the sermon, an opportunity was given for 
for any to give testimony to what God had done 
for them, request prayers, or make confession of 
their sense of sinfulness. One after another had 
thus spoken, and several prayers had been offered, 
when some one arose in a distant part of the 
church, near the door, and with a voice choked 
with emotion, said : *' I feel that I am a prodigal 
son. I wish to return to my Father, to confess 
to Him tliat I have sinned airainst heaven and in 
Ilis siglit, and am no more worthy to be called a 
son ; and I am ready to be the poorest servant if 


The HevivaL 


161 


He will receive me. Pray for me, that I may 
find the way to Him, — that He may forgive me 
and receive me.” 

The speaker sat down. There was a moment 
of breathless silence, and then Mr. Wingate of- 
fered a short, fervent prayer for the returning 
penitent, the scarcely repressed feelings of hearts 
that thrilled with joy akin to that of the angels 
over a repenting sinner, bearing up his petitions 
with the fullness and strength of Christian sympa- 
thy and faith. 

How that voice made the hearts of the Seymour 
family bound with surprise and gratitude ! . With 
what swelling emotions they joined in the prayers ? 
It was Harry, their Harry, who was seeking the 
way to his Father’s house. 

As the meeting closed and he came forward to 
join the inquirers gathering around the altar, he 
grasped Mr. Seymour’s hand and, stout youth as 
he was; dropped his head a moment on his moth- 
er’s shoulder, whispering, — ” It was your prayers 


162 


Daisy Seymour. 


that did it. I could not get away from them. I 
have tried tp fight them off, but they brought me 
here. Pray always for me.” 

Tliat night, on their return from meeting, 
Harry brought the Bible to his father for the 
evening worship, and after the reading, Mr. Sey- 
mour bowed in prayer, — his hand on Harry’s 
shoulder, as he knelt by his side, — gave thanks 
for God’s great goodness, and made intercession 
with the Father for this repentant son. And 
then the mother, and one after another, each mem- 
ber of the family, offered their petitions, some- 
times broken and choked with tears, but full of 
Christian joy and faith ; and at last Harry him- 
self, in broken sentences, gave himself to God in 
entire surrender and consecration. While he 
was yet a great way off, his Father had met 
him and brought him home with rejoicing. 

And in that marvelous revelation of God in his 
soul, — that most mysterious and wonderful ope- 
ration of the divine Spirit upon the human nature, 


The Revival. 


163 


— the work of regeneration, wherein the free 
choice of tlie sinner and the agency of the Holy 
Spirit are so distinctly recognized and sharply de- 
fined, yet so wondrously blended, — that new cre- 
ation where he is told, — " Work out your own 
salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God 
that worketh in you both to will and to do of his 
good pleasure,” — the inquiry never once came into 
his mind, "How can these things be?” He re- 
alized them as an actual fact in his experience, 
but did not attempt to analyze his faith, discrimi- 
‘nate between the steps of the process, or recon- 
cile the great questions involved. "For the nat- 
ural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of 
God, for they are foolishness unto him, neither 
can he know them, because they are spiritually 
discerned. But God hath revealed them unto 
us by His Spirit.” 



CHAPTER XIV. 



FACING RESPONSIBILITY. 

EBRCJARY had come, with its long- 
er days and tlie promise of spring in 
its more generous sunshine. Winter 
had passed very cpiietly at Hemlocks, 
but the days had been neither idle nor monoto- 
nous. Too far removed from tlie village to par- 
ticipate freely in the social enjoyments, they had 
yet their share of company and visiting. Dur- 
ing the summer, country hospitality is generally 
taxed with visitors from the city, and there is less 
time and opportunity for intercourse among 
neighbors. Cold weather drives away the sum- 
mer visitors, and work presses less heavily on the 


Facing Besponsihility, 165 

household. Cut oiF from out - door occupation 
and eujoyment, the earth itself shrouded in snow, 
and the air forbidding, the people turn to human 
sympathy and companionship. The long even- 
ings quicken the social instincts and give leisure 
to gratify them. 

Daisy had formed some very pleasant ac- 
quaintances. She had been surprised to find 
girls of education and refinement in the country 
village, though, in the freedom of social inter- 
course, she was often annoyed by the coarse 
manners and gossiping criticism of ill-bred 
girls, who, with vacant minds and uncultivated 
tastes, were continually engrossed in petty jeal- 
ousies, ofiScious meddling, impertinent curiosity 
and foolish or malicious scandal. It is a sad 
thing to see a young girl whose mind and heart 
run to waste. 

Daisy was rather a favorite among the young 
people. Her pretty face and winning ways at- 
tracted notice and admiration. She had vivacity 


1G6 


Daisy Seymour, 


and playfulness enough to be agreeable, and was 
intelligent and sympathetic enough to be com- 
panionable. She might have been quite a 
belle, had she not had too much character and 
delicacy to stoop to coquetry or trifling. Young 
men found various devices for driving out to 
Hemlocks, when they lacked courage to make a 
formal call on Daisy. Sometimes they had busi- 
ness with Mr. Seymour, or an errand with 
Harry, — both business and errand hardly war- 
ranting the trouble of a visit, and appai’ently 
forgotten' when they were courteously invited to 
stay and spend the evening. Lucy's acquaint- 
ances were anxious to make the most of the 
time during which she would be with them, and 
to see her often before they lost her from the 
place, and Harry had very many friends among 
the young men. It was astonishing that a boy 
of his age could be so enjoyable to those of 
maturer years. It was amazing to see how one 
young lawyer, in particular, patronized him. If 


Facing FesjDonsibility. 


167 


Daisy was aware of the little by - play and sub- 
terfuge of these informal evening visits, she did 
not betray it, though Harry used to talk very 
demurely about his dear friends who always h:ip- 
pened to get into such an interesting talk with 
Daisy that they had to come again to see 
him. 

Lucy’s wedding had been put off a little. Now 
it was to take place the next week. Mr. Yorsten 
was to come to - morrow, and Percy might be 
expected any day, as the steamer in which he 
sailed . was already due. Lucy was to have a 
quiet family wedding, yet there had been great 
preparations for it. The whole house had been 
renovated and put in freshest order. All the 
family, down to Robbie and Dicky, had their new 
suit of clothes for the occasion. Lucy’s wardrobe 
and housekeeping outfit had finally been finished 
and packed. The hurry and bustle of prepara- 
tion subsiding, there was a day or two of breath- 
ing time and anticipation. Lucy lingered over 


168 


Daisy Seymour, 


the familiar tasks and around the family scenes 
with softened tenderness, and Mrs. Seymour’s 
eyes followed her with wistful love. 

But the wedding was not in Daisy’s thought 
to - night. She had been studying her Sabbath 
school lesson, and was now writing in her jour- 
nal. 

When she commenced her journal at school, 
Mrs. Lawrence had once said to her : ” Record 

thoughts and facts more than feelings, and be 
sure and tell the truth. It is well to examine our- 
selves, question our motives, write out our good 
resolutions, or make mention of God’s special 
goodness to us ; yet, to study too continually the 
workings of our own hearts, and record all our 
emotional experience, induces a morbid self - 
consciousness ; while the Christian should con- 
stantly endeavor to be less occupied with self and 
more filled with God. We become better, not 
by dwelling on our own weakness and sinfulness, 
but on God’s character and love to us ; by look- 


Facing Fesponsibility, 169 

ing towards Christ, not into the darkness and sin 
of our own souls. 

" And we are in great danger of coloring, exag- 
gerating or intensifying any account of our relig- 
ious struggles, temptations or victories. It is 
not easy to be perfectly honest, and strictly truth- 
ful in recording any experience exactly as it is. 
The mere effort to clothe it in words may soften 
or strengthen a feeling. We should always en- 
deavor to tell the exact truth about ourselves 
when speaking to ourselves.” 

Daisy’s Journal was more a history of her 
life, a record of her thoughts and opinions on 
subjects to which her attention was directed from 
day to day, than a report of her spiritual growth ; 
yet, as she endeavored to bring her whole life un- 
der the influence of Christian principle, to live 
day by day nearer to her Saviour, to have her 
heart more filled with love to Him and her con- 
duct more entirely guided by his Spirit, any 
record made of her daily life, must embody some- 


170 


Daisy Seymour, 


tiling of these religious aspirations and aims, 
some self - communing and self - condemnation, 
some considerations of duty, some precious ex- 
perience of heavenly blessing. 

To - night she was oppressed with a sense of 
neglected duty in her shrinking from personal 
effort to win others to Christ, especially with 
reference to her Sabbath school class. The Sab- 
bath school had increased in numbers during the 
winter, and so many new classes had been formed 
that it was difficult to obtain satisfactory teachers, 
and various changes were made to meet the wants 
of the school. Daisy’s class of little girls had 
been transferred to another teacher, and she had 
been induced to take charge of a class of older 
pupils, girls of fourteen or fifteen years of age. 
She had great hesitation in assuming such a re- 
sponsibility, and had found the duty even more 
trying than she anticipated. Two of the girls 
had become Christians during the reviv^al, but the 
others were giddy and thoughtless. They had 


Facing Fcs'ponsibility . 


171 


been drawn into the school because ” every- 
body went,” and the novelty and excitement at- 
tracted them for a while. They were from re- 
spectable but irreligious families, they were igno- 
rant of the Bible, and their characters seemed 
wholly lacking in the religious element. Daisy 
found it difficult to interest them in the lesson, or 
even keep their attention. They were ready to 
gaze about, whisper and laugh when she was 
making the greatest effort to impress some truth 
upon them. 

She could pray for them, make faithful prep- 
aration for her lesson, and work with Christian 
fidelity in the Sabbath instruction ; but to ap- 
proach them personally with a direct inquiry, an 
appeal, or a word of affectionate entreaty, seemed 
impossible to her. She shrank from intruding 
into the sacred privacy of any hidden life, break- 
ing over the barrier of reserve which one instinct- 
ively raises between the heart and the world, 
and forcing herself into the unwilling confidence 


172 Daisy Seyynour. 

of another. Yet the more earnest her interest for 
their salvation, the more urgent was her feeling 
that she should make some personal effort in 
their behalf. Her prayers w^ere burdened by the 
consciousness that she was leaving a part of her 
work undone. The last Sabbath, Ellen Saxton, 
who was generally the most troublesome one in 
the class, had been unsually quiet and atten- 
tive, and Daisy had felt prompted once or twice 
to speak with her personally, but had let the 
opportunity pass unimproved. To - night she had 
made this entry in her journal : 

” I have been considering a point of sug- 
gested duty. Either it is my duty, or it is 
not. I must decide the question. A state of 
uncertainty is neither right nor wise. If it is not 
my duty, I dismiss it at once ; if it is my duty, 
I must do it. Yet why should I call it a 
duty? Is it not a privilege to do something 
for my Saviour? Should I not be grateful if 
He will let me do something in His cause? 


Facing Besponsihility, 173 

And if I love the souls of others, and believe 
that only Christ can save them, how can I help 
finding ways to express that interest and com- 
mend that Saviour to them ! Yet I am such 
an imperfect Christian myself, that I am quite 
unfit to present Christ to others. I am afraid 
to see my own hand - writing on another’s spirit- 
ual nature. To meddle or tamper with the 
wonderfully sensitive tissues of the human soul 
is such a fearful thing in its far - reaching re- 
sults. I dare only use God’s truth in a simple, 
earnest way, without even the finger weight of 
human touch to send it home. 

”But I must be wrong in that. I am exert- 
ino’ an influence on other souls, whether inten- 
tionally or not. Should I not endeavor to use 
for God the power which I constantly use with- 
out aim or will? If I were a better Christian, 
I should not be afraid of direct effort. How 
can one become better except by trying to 
do present duty? Does not the best prepara- 


174 


Daisy Seymour, 


tion for a'work sometimes lie in the willingness 
to do it ? Do we not become fitted for the work 
by actually doing it? And we are to show 
Christ to others ; not hold up ourselves. But 
I have so little of Him ; so much of myself ! So 
every way I find my need of Him ; all Chi’istian 
effort draws me nearer to Him.” 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE YOUNG CHEISTIAN’S DEAX». 

last Percy had come ; the wed- 
was over ; Lucy was gone ; and 
family was settling down again 
its ordinary ways ; though Per- 
cy’s presence, with the charm and interest of 
his traveling experience, added new and enliv- 
ening elements to the family circle. 

One morning a message was left for Daisy. 
^'AVould Miss Seymour please to call at Mrs. 
Saxton’s ? Miss Ellen was dangerously sick, and 
wished very much to see her Sabbath school 
teacher.” 

How it startled Daisy. In the excitement and 



17G 


Daisy Seymour, 


busy occupation of the last three weeks, she had 
almost forgotten other anxieties and interests. 
Ellen was absent from her class the last Sabbath, 
and, on inquiry, she learned that she was sick. 
She had fully intended to make further inquiries, 
and call upon her if the illness continued, but 
had neglected to do so during the week. It was 
now Saturday, and this was the first intelligence 
she had received from her. Her father happened 
to be going to the village, and he took her there 
at once. Mrs. Saxton met her kindly, but with 
an anxious, tearful face. Yes, Ellen was very, 
very sick. The doctor said she could not recover, 
and might live but a few days. 

They led her to the sick room. What a change 
this brief time had wrought ! The gay girl, whose 
blooming face and boisterous spirits had mocked 
at disease and sorrow, could hardly be recognized 
in the poor sufferer bolstered on the pillows in 
the darkened room. 

” Miss Seymour, I am going to die, and I 


The Young Christian'^ s Death. 177 
wanted to ask you to for 2 ;ive me for beins: so inat- 

V o o 

tentive and rude to you in the Sabbath scliool 
class. I am very sorry that I treated you so, 
and I thank you for your patience, and what you 
taught me about the Saviour.” 

" My dear Ellen, your want of courtesy to me 
was nothing compared with your indifference and 
ingratitude to the Saviour. Have you asked him 
to forgive you ? ” 

" Yes, Miss .Seymour. I wanted to tell you 
about that, too. Several Sundays ago, you were 
talking to us about the Saviour’s love ; sometliing 
made me pay more attention than usual ; and all 
at once it came into my mind as something real, — 
as if I Imd never heard of it before. I began to 
see that there was something true and of very sol- 
emn interest in the things that I had heard so 
often like idle words. It was as if some new 
power had taken hold of me, and made me see 
and feel a fearful reality in life and death, heaven 
and hell, my own soul and God. I seemed 


178 


Daisy Seymour, 


almost to see the Saviour, and oh, how grieved 
He looked towards me. And then I began to see 
what I was, — what I had been doing all my life, 
— and the more I thought of it, the more I real- 
ized what a poor, sinful, lost creature I was, and 
how holy and just God was. I had nobody to 
talk to, — nobody to help me; and I was very 
wretched. I thought I would ask you the next 
Sunday to tell me something. The lesson was 
about the Omniscience of God, and i felt His all- 
seeing eye looking me through and through till it 
seemed to burn into my ^ soul with a blaze of 
light. How I trembled and loathed myself under 
that gaze ! That only increased my distress. I 
waited a moment to speak with you after the 
school was dismissed, but you were occupied with 
your friends, and I came home utterly wretched, 
left hopeless by God and man. 

In the evening I went to church again, and Mr. 
Wingate preached about the condition and pros- 
pects of the sinner, — ' without God and without 


The, Young Christian- s Death. 179 

hope in the world.’ Every way I turned, these 
terrible facts were driven home to my distressed 
heart. I knew all that ; I wanted to find some 
way out of it. Why would nobody show me 
what to do? I could not bear it any longer. 

" After meeting I went to see Mr. Wingate. 
Before that, I had kept my feelings to myself. I 
thought the girls would laugh at me ; but now I 
did not care if all the world laughed at me. I 
must do soiAething. I do n’t know how it was. 
Mr. Wingate did not say very much to me. lie 
read several verses froyi the Bible, — verses that I 
had heard a great many times, but did not see 
much meaning in them. Now, how new they 
were to me, — as if God had just spoken them to 
me. And then he prayed with me; — then, I 
can not tell you how it was, but my eyes were 
opened. It was all there before, but I did not 
see it, — that God loved me, — that the Saviour 
was waiting to have me take Him as my Saviour. 
It did not come at once. My own heart looked 


180 


Daisy Seymour. 


as bad as before, but I no longer wished to hide 
myself from the sight of God. Jesus drew me 
towards Him, and I came, feeling that He could 
save me from myself. I was so helpless that I 
could do nothing ; but He was ready to do it all. 

"And, Miss Seymour, I think He has forgiven 
me. The very next day I began to be sick, and 
I could not think much. I feel very ignorant 
about such things. Sometimes in the terrible 
pain it seemed as though I could not remember 
anything, or know anything. And there is a 
great deal I do n’t know and ought to know, but 
Jesus knows it all, and I trust it all to Him. I 
just lie here and feel sure that He will take care of 
me, and so I do n’t try to understand it. I only 
just take hold of His hand, which He stretches 
out to me, and leave all the rest to Him. When 
I think about dying, I am afraid. I am so sorry 
to leave father and mother, and all I love, and all 
the pleasant things here. Oh, it is so pleasant to 
live ! And I am so young ! But when I think 


The Young Ohristlan^s Death, 181 

about my Saviour, and the liome where I am go- 
ing, where I shall not sin any more, and shall see 
Him and enjoy Him always, I am not afraid nor 
sorry. Oh, no ; I am very safe in His care,— 
very safe.” 

And Ellen paused, with a look of sweet trust 
on her face as if she were saying it over and over 
to herself, dwelling lovingly on the precious 
thought. 

She had talked on hurriedly, often interrupted 
by coughing, want of breath, or paroxysms of 
pain. Daisy had listened almost speechless, — 
awe - stricken in the presence of one on the borders 
of the dark valley, and her utterance choked with 
her over - powering emotions. The grateful, joy- 
ous surprise in finding her wayward pupil rejoic- 
ing in the Christian hope, was followed by a 
remorseful sense of loss, in remembering that God 
had given her an opportunity to have a part in 
this work, and she had neglected it. Yet none 
the less had He carried on His work, finding other 


182 Daisy Seymour, 

instruments to do His will, other means to accom- 
plish His plans. He had not needed her ; He 
could do without her unwilling service ; but she 
had lost a precious privilege of sharing in the 
blessed work of leading a soul back to Him. 

Sitting there by Ellen’s bedside, the pupil 
became tlie teacher. Ellen- asked her to sing a 
hymn that would suit her ; and with voice that 
trembled at first, and then steadied itself as the 
spirit of the hymn grew strong in her heart, she 
sang : 


“ Kock of Ages I cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in thee ! 

Let the water and the blood, 

From thy wounded side that flowed, 
Be of sin the double cure, — 

Cleanse me from its guilt and power. 

“ Could my zeal no respite know. 
Could my tears forever flow, 

All for sin could not atone ; 

Thou must save, and Thou alone I 
In my hand no price I bring; 

Simply to thy cross I cling. 

“ Wliile I draw this fleeting breath, 
When my eyelids close in death; 


The Young Christianas Death. 183 


When I soar to worlds unknown, 

See Thee on thy judgment throne, — 

Kock of Ages I cleft for me, 

, Let me hide myself in thee.” 

” Oh, thank you, Miss Seymour,” said Ellen, 

with radiant face ; ” and now there is another one, 

about covering my head with the shadow of His 

wing ; won’t you sing that ? ” So Daisy sang on : 

“ Jesus, lover of my soul. 

Let me to thy bosom fly. 

While the waters near me roll. 

While the tempest still is high ; 

Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, 

Till the storm of life is past; 

Safe into the haven guide; 

* Oh, receive my soul at last 1 

Other refuge have I none ; 

Hangs my helpless soul on thee ; 

Leave, ah! leave me not alone; 

Still support and comfort me. 

All my trust on thee is stayed. 

Al l my help from thee I bring ; 

Cover my defenceless head 
With the shadow of thy wing.” 

The singing seemed to quiet her restlessness 
and soothe her pain. She lay silent for some- 
time, as if she were filling her soul with the 


184 


Daisy Seymour, 


blessedness of that sure refuge, and then she 
asked Daisy to pray with her. The mother had 
been sitting by, listening and ministering to the 
wants of her suffering child. Daisy glanced 
towards her. ”Yes, Miss Seymour, if it will do 
her any good ; she has begged me to pray for 
her, and I can’t. But you can ; ” and the poor 
woman burst into tears. The prayer caught up 
the spirit of the hymns, and brought them into 
the conscious presence of the Saviour, in whose 
love His sinful children may hide with unwaver- 
ing faith. 

O 

As Daisy left, Ellen begged her to ” come 

again, if ” and she paused a moment ; ah, 

the solemn uncertainty of that " if” — ” if I should 
live a few days longer,” she added, with a steady 
voice and bright eye. 

She lived several days after that interview, and 
Daisy saw her twice. She found her always with 
the same unshaken tnist in the Saviour, restino- 
in Him with childlike confidence. Daisy looked 


The Young Christian^ s Death, 185 

to see in her a more vivid realization of the mys- 
terious and untried scenes upon which she was 
entering, for a more eager anticipation and tri- 
umphant rejoicing in the ])rospect, and for a more 
anxious interest in the salvation of her impenitent 
friends. She did, indeed, talk with affectionate 
solicitude to her father and mother, charging her 
younger brothers and sisters to study the Bible 
and love the Saviour, and left messages for her 
young friends : but to Daisy, looking out with the 
steady gaze of strong life and health into the world 
beyond, there came such an overpowering sense 
of the solemn reality of death, such a vivid con- 
ception of the great change, that she thought that, 
if she were lying there, expecting each day to 
enter upon those scenes, her whole being would 
be absorbed in the prospect before her, — that all 
she believed and hoped for would be quickened into 
intense activity and rapturous anticipation. She 
thought it would be impossible for her to lie there 
quietly and calmly, drifting out from the familiar 


18G 


Daisy Seymour, 


shore upon tlie mysterious, boundless ocean. She 
did not know how disease and suffering may 
deaden the shock, and soften the startling vivid- 
ness with which death and life confront each other ; 
that the sick bed often makes an unconscious 
transition from the known and visible to the un- 
known and invisible ; and that, through the slow 
dissolution of the body, the soul feels its way 
obscurely into the realms beyond the senses. And 
she did not know how various are the dealings of 
God with His children ; through what new and 
fresh experiences He leads them home, each in his 
own path, but all in the same direction. 

After days of great suffering, the struggle and 
the pain ceased, and Ellen died as peacefully as a 
child shuts its eyes to sleep. 

The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose, 

He will not, he will not desert to its foes; 

That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, 
He’ll never, no, never, no, never forsake.” 



CHAPTER XVI. 



IN A NEW SPHERE. 

X THE spring, Daisy took up new 
duties and responsibilities. The 
Principal of the academy was taken 
ill just before the commencement of the 
spring term, and the trustees applied to 
Percy Willard to take his place. He accepted 
the situation for one quarter, intending then to 
take up his professional studies. The school 
opened with an unusually large number of pupils, 
warranting the employment of additional teachers, 
to afford better facilities for their improvement. 
No instruction had previously been given in music, 
and the French had been taught by one of the 


188 


Daisy Seymour, 


gentlemen teachers, who had the average knowl- 
edge gained by young men in their college course. 
Percy proposed to Daisy that she take charge of 
the French classes and give lessons in music. 
She would have been unwilling to take such a 
task on her own responsibility or with strangers, 
but it was quite a different afliiir to work with 
Percy, depending on his judgment and support, 
sure of his co - operation and sympathy. When 
in school, she excelled in music and French, and 
was very well fitted, from previous study and 
practice under fine teachers, to give instruction in 
those departments. 

She commenced her duties with great energy 
and enthusiasm, though with some diffidence. 
Though not quite eighteen years of age, and 
very youthful in manner and appearance, she 
had a real dignity of character, steadiness and 
self - reliance which inspired a degree of confi- 
dence and respect. She had grown more wom- 
anly, improved in practical judgment and ready 


In a New Sphere, 


189 


tact, so that she could adapt lierself more easily 
to persons and circumstances. She was glad to 
do something for her own support, to relieve her 
father from an added burden, and glad to do it 
for the pleasure of doing. 

A healtliy condition of body and mind makes 
the exercise of one’s powers a positive enjoyment. 
There is an excitement in devising and executing 
plans, a consciousness of power in accomplishing 
difficult undertakings, a satisfaction arising from 
congenial occupations and intelligent activity, a 
pleasure in making one’s self useful, which create 
a healthful glow through the whole being, like the 
bloom on the cheek and the bounding flow of the 
vigorous blood. 

The care and work might have overtasked her 
strength, but tlie drives to and from school, as 
they boaifled at home, made her fresh to take up 
the school - room duty in the morning, and lifted 
the burdens before slie reached home at night. 
She did not find teaching an unalloyed pleasure. 


190 


Daisy Seymour, 


There was dry and tiresome work connected with 
it. Some of her pupils were slow and dull, some 
were Idle and careless, and her enthusiasm was 
often damped and her patience severely tried by 
the lack of appreciation and response where her 
efforts had been tireless and earnest. But she 
accomplished much for her pupils, and still more 
for herself. The experience was an intellectual 
gain, but more valuable in its eifect in strength- 
ening and developing her character. 

Percy was surprised at her success. Pie had 
no doubt as to her scholarship. He knew she 
was fully competent for all the work required of 
her, and was confident she would make herself a 
successful and popular teacher ; but he had ex- 
pected to sustain her by his authority ; he thought 
she would depend on his advice, and refer cases 
of discipline to his decision. Instead of that, she 
not only sustained herself in her own depart- 
ment with a degree of independence and exec- 
utive ability, but her observation and judgment 


In a New Sphere, 191 

were invaluable to liim in managing the general 
interests of the school. It was he who consulted 
her on matters of greater and less importance, 
not she who was referring to him constantly. In 
truth, she aroused little antagonism on the part of 
her pupils. She was pleasing in appearance and 
winning in manners, and was herself so interested 
in the study, and so sincere and earnest in her 
efforts for the progress of her scholars, that in- 
subordination was disarmed, stupidity roused, and 
indifference excited to attention and industry. 

With the boys, where she expected most troub- 
le, she found no difficulty. A chivalrous ad- 
miration for herself, and the generous honor 
which even the roughest manliness renders to the 
sweet OTace of womanhood, saved her from un- 
comfortable collisions with coarse and lawless 
boys, while she was the constant recipient of 
tlioughtful attentions and pleasant courtesies from 
the more scholarly and appreciative. Her only 
trouble was with uncultured, undisciplined girls 


192 


Daisy Seymour. 


near lier own age. She did have worries and 
perplexities and discouragements in her relations 
witli them. At first she was inclined to cany 
these troubles to Percy, ask liiin what to do and 
leave the discipline in his hands; but she v/iscly 
concluded that, if she could not concentrate her 
energies and create elements of force sufficient to 
influence and control the minds brought under 
her care, her weakness would be a great draw - 
back to her usefulness in her work, and a source 
of conscious lack and mortification to her self - 
respect. She roused herself to a stronger and 
more vigorous tone of mind, studied a wdser 
choice of means, observed more carefully the re- 
sults of different methods, and adapted her efforts 
to individual temperament and disposition. She 
did not always succeed, for she was too young 
and ignorant of human nature not to make mis- 
takes and failures ; — w^hat promised so much in 
theory she could not realize in fact. Her plans 
were too often formed for ideal pupils. It w'as 


In a New Sphere, 


193 


easy to manage these in her own thought ; but 
the pupils in her classes were often stubborn re- 
alities, doing the very things that she had never 
calculated upon, and placing her in the most un- 
expected positions. But she fought her way 
through many difficulties, learning from her mis- 
takes, and developing a silent strength and latent 
power not apparent in her gentle, attractive man- 
ners, but sure to be felt in any demand for their 
exercise. 

Harry was an invaluable counselor and friend. 
His gay spirits often effervesced in boyish fun, 
and his sharp eyes and merry tongue found inex- 
haustible sources of frolic ; but his honest, frank 
manliness, clear perceptions, correct judgment 
and unswerving Christian principles made him 
judicious, quick - sighted and trustworthy. It 
was surprising to see how often Percy depended 
on his opinion and practical knowledge. The 
older youth had not wholly shaken off the dream- 
iness and morbid sensibility of his boyhood. 


104 Daisy Seymour, 

The ideal tendencies of his character refined but 
sometimes weakened the stronger forces. His 
swarminsr thoimhts and fancies confused his 
vision, and the susceptibility of his emotional 
nature warped his judgment. 

Harry’s fearless, Christian faithfulness was a 
constant lesson to those about him. He never 
seemed to doubt and question in reference to 
duty. Right and wrong were clearly defined to 
him, and whatever it cost, he accepted the decis- 
ions of his conscience as final and authoritative. 
His faults were those of a decided, courageous, 
outspoken disposition. Weak indecision, cow- 
ardice, meanness, falsehood and cunning could 
not be comfortable under the keen, withering ex- 
pression of his eye. Unconsciously he was often 
a rebuke to another. There was such a healthy 
vitality in his piety that a weaker growth or de- 
formed, one - sided development was put to shame 
when brought in contrast with it. Whether it 
was the invigorating effect of Harry’s character, 


In a New Sphere, 


195 


the indirect influence of Daisy’s conception of a 
man’s noblest work, or the result of his own in- 
dependent deliberations and sense of duty, Percy 

decided to consecrate himself to the work of the 

✓ 

ministry, and enter upon his theological studies at 
the beginning of the next seminary term. 

The summer was a delightful vacation. Daisy 
made herself useful in household duties, and 
Percy and Harry shared in the farm work, but 
not with the dull pressure of necessity and unre- 
mitting toil. The day’s work was framed in a 
golden border, and the hours of labor were bright 
in a rich and beautiful setting. 



CHAPTER XYII. 

NEW AND HIGHER THOUGHTS. 

W Daisy has changed since she 
school ; . do n’t you think so ? I 
Id suppose she was a dozen years 
r. What has she done to her- 
self? ” 

" I do n’t see as she is so different. You for- 
get that her uncle and aunt have died, and then, 
after she came here, her little sister sickened, and 
she lost her property, and her life is not at all 
like what it was at school. She has had a good 
many things to m^ike her feel older and soberer, 
though I find her pretty much the same Daisy.” 



O 


shot 

olde 


New and Higher Thoughts. 197 . 

"What puzzles me, is, that the very things 
that I thought would make her different, don’t 
seem to have affected her. I expected to find her 
pensive and interesting, with a kind of shadow 
hanging about her, as if she carried a grief in her 
heart that she did not talk about ; as if she suf- 
fered, but was very patient and heroic over it. 
And I thought she would have a kind of princess 
air among these country people. But she seems 
as contented as if she had everything she wanted, 
as fresh and lively as if nobody ever died, and as 
unaffected and genuine in her regard for these 
people as if she never was in any better circum- 
stances or lived with any more stylish folks. She 
do n’t even wear mourning.” 

" Then in what respect is she so different.” 

"Well, I can’t exactly tell. She seems so 
much older, though she do n’t look so. She 
do n’t have any nonsense about her. I feel more 
like behaving myself when she is around ; and as 
for playing jokes on her, as I used to at school, I 


198 


Daisy Seymour, 


declare, wouldn’t my hair stand on end at the 
diirnified astonishment she would look at such a 
girlish escapade? I believe it is living so long 
without girls. Among these sensible people, 
she do n’t get her wits shaken up ; she do n’t 
ferment into silly frolic and effervesce into foam- 
ing nonsense. I tell you, there is nothing that 
keeps the sparkle in one like having mischief 
brewing about you all the time,” and the merry 
girl twitched the long locks of her companion, 
danced about her, caught her around the waist 
and swung her off in a giddy whirl about the 
room. 

” O Mary ! Do n’t ! Percy Willard’s room is 
right opposite, and he will think we are having a 
regular boarding school frolic. Do let us behave 
ourselves properly. I hate to be reckoned as a 
hoydenish girl whose good time is made up of 
underhand play and plots and mischief.” 

'' So it is Percy Willard’s good opinion we 
must earn by proper behavior? Well, he is a 


New and Higher Thoughts, 199 

handsome fellow, worth an effort in any line, 
though I should rather try any other track than 
the ” proper ” one. Sit down and make up your 
most fascinating crimps ; but it is my private 
opinion that your raven locks will never catch in 
their meshes the heart that is fast prisoned in 
Daisy Seymour’s golden curls. I have noticed 
that such serious, intellectual young men, with 
their grand airs of superior judgment and sense, 
are apt to be caught by a pretty face and charm- 
ing manners, or even by a little piquant non- 
sense. Now, I beg your pardon, but you are 
entirely too good and sensible and practical to 
stir this gallant knight^with a single heart flutter. 
I should succeed better myself. My madcap 
ways would shock him at first, but he would soon 
get over that, and I should dash into the charge 
in such unexpected places and with such daring 
plunges, that he would be compelled to notice me 
and think about me. I have a mind to try. 
Wouldn’t a flirtation with him be splendid?” 


200 


Daisy Seymour. 


” Mary, are you not ashamed of yourself? A 
girl of your sense and good breeding to talk 
about getting up a flirtation, in that style ! I hope 
you have more womanliness and refinement than 
to set yourself deliberately even to think in that 
way.” 

” Most worthy and well - beloved cousin ! I 
humbly beg your forgiveness for my shocking un- 
womanliness, but I will leave it to the court to 
decide, if you have not spent the last fifteen min- 
utes in putting up your hair for a charming fringe 
of curls and a fascinating mass of wavy bands, 
and the thought of Percy Willard has twisted 

itself in and out among the fingers and the crimps. 
? 

And I dare say you have planned half a dozen 
things to say at breakfast that shall be so un- 
premeditated, and so sensible and witty. Here, 
most exemplary young lady, confess to me.” 

She seated herself in her cousin’s lap, took 
Hattie’s face between her two hands, and, look- 
ing straight into her eyes, asked, — ” Do n’t 


New and Higher Thoughts, 201 

you tliink Percy Willard is handsome ? Now tell 
me the exact truth.” 

” I think he is fine lookins:.” 

"Well, that is what we mean when we call a 
gentleman handsome. Do n’t you think he is 
talented, and good, and interesting? ” 

"Yes.” 

" And do n’t you mean to make yourself agree- 
able to him ? ” 

" I mean to make myself agreeable to every- 
body.” 

"But that is not a straightforward answer. 
You will try to be agreeable to Mrs. Seymour; 
but are you not conscious of a little more effort to 
please when you are with Mr. Willard? Do you 
not feel more gratified if he admires and enjoys 
you? Say, now, you would not take the same 
pains to look pretty and be attractive and inter- 
esting to please a poor old woman, that you 
wovdd to please a handsome young man? The 
difference between you and me is just this. You 


202 


Daisy Seymour, 


hide your intentions and feelings out of sight, and 
with an innocent, demure manner, lay yourself 
out to catch your unsuspecting victim, while I 
put on an open face, own up to my designs, and 
give him a fair chance to run away or fight back 
if he chooses. Now, Hattie, is it not so ? ” 

” Mary, do n’t talk nonsense. I never said I 
did not enjoy the society and attentions of young 
men ; but you know, as well as 1 do, that there 
is a difference between frank friendliness and real 
mutual enjoyment among gentlemen and ladies, 
and the despicable selfishness, vanity and little- 
ness which endeavors to attract attention, win 
admiration or excite interest and affection merely 
to gratify itself and exercise a certain kind of 
power.” 

” Do n’t you think it is very pleasant to make 
people love you? Is it not desirable to acquire 
power over others ? Should we not endeavor to 
exert a strong influence, to make deep impres- 
sions on others ? ” 


New and Higher Thoughts, 203 

" When you ask the general question, I should 
answer, in general, that we should seek to under- 
stand human nature, and know how to take it at 
best advantage for its own good. We should try 
to deserve love. We should endeavor to make 
the goodness and truth in us, strong in its in- 
fluence on another, not to secure any personal 
power or admiration, but for its own sake. 
What we seek unselfishly in that respect is likely 
to be safe.” 

” Should not good girls, such as you and I, 
for instance, attract young men, that they may 
tall in love with the goodness in us, instead of 
being bewitched by silly, selfish girls ? ” 

” Is goodness your abundant and all - powerful 
charm ? In truth, I do believe that each girl should 
trust and honor all other girls more for having 
known her.” 

" Well, my model girl, how is she to go to 
work ? ” 

” Not so much through what she does or says, as 


204 


Daisy Seymour, 



throucfli what she is, should he find himself lifted 
to a higher level through his intercourse with 
her. Is there any better w'ay for her to preach 
purity and delicacy, refinement and honor, than 
by being pure and delicate, refined and honorable? 
Is there any better way for her to show a man 
how to be honest, brave and manly, than for her- 
self to be truthful, fearless and brave - hearted ? 
Such things, being a part of herself, will find a 
natural expression when called for.” 

But all that is a different thing from fascinat- 
ing a man. Some girls do that without any 
effort.” 

" As to that kind of influence, a sort of magnetic 
power, partly physical, which I suppose most of 
us have, though in far different degrees, I think 
it is rather a dangerous force to use, especially 
when exercised between ladies and gentlemen. I 
do n’t know much about it, but it seems to me 
there is an element in it which is not ennoblinsr 
to either party. There is often a great tempta- 


JVew and Higher Thoughts* 205 

tion to use it. When a girl sees that she holds a 
man under her slightest touch, she enjoys the 
exercise of her power ; how can she help it? But 
nny power exerted simply to prove its strength, is 
apt to be debasing ; used as a means to a noble 
end, it becomes ennobled.” 

" I remember you wrote a composition about 
that last year. What was that quotation from 
Shakespeare ? ” 

‘‘ ‘ It is excellent 

To liave a giant’s strength, but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant.’ 

” Only very good people can be trusted with 
the exercise of that peculiar personal power. 
Those whom we call fascinating, have often some 
dark depths within, into which they are glad the 
sunshine does not come, through doubtless many 
exercise it unconsciously.” 

” You preach very well, Hattie, and practice 
pretty well too. But I do n’t pretend to be so 
good. I wish I was, and knew as much as you 
do. You talk like a book. But then, so much 


206 


Daisy Seymour. 


wisdom might be too much for one family. So, 
since I am not such a grand specimen of a girl, 
you may finish your hair, and I will go to sleep 
and dream about a handsome young man, with 
deep, dark eyes and royal brow.” 

The two girls were talking in the ” spare cham- 
ber ” at Hemlocks. Hattie Lovell had been one 
of Daisy’s valued friends at school. She was 
older than the other girls, and patronized Daisy 
somewhat in a sisterly way. She was a fine 
scholar, sensible and conscientious, and had a 
warm, generous heart. The cousin, Mary IMor- 
ris, was entirely unlike her, but the two girls 
were much attached to each other. Hattie, from 
her three years seniority, often assumed the char- 
acter of adviser and chaperon to the younger and 
more giddy girl, and Mary used to repay her by 
the most unmerciful teasing. But few persons 
had so much influence over her as her cousin 
Hattie. 

The Morris family, and Hattie with them, were 


New and Higher Thoughts. 207 

boarding for the summer in a mountain town not 
far distant, and had come, at Daisy’s invitation, 
to spend a week with her. This was the first 
night after their arrival, and they were indulging 
in the free, confidential talk so common to girls 
when they shut out the world, and, in dressing - 
gown and slippers, let down their hair and chat 
over the events of the day or the plans of the 
morrow. 

Whether Mary proceeded with deliberate plan 
to lay siege to Percy Willard’s heart and secure 
his attention, or only followed the promptings 
of a frank, unbridled impulse and genuine inter- 
est, she certainly succeeded in monopolizing a 
great deal of the young man’s time and attention. 
The home party was frequently increased by 
other visitors, and young men from the village 
were very glad to join them in croquet, riding, 
driving and boating. And it very often happened 
that Percy Willard and Mary Morris were paired 
off together. Perhaps from inherent reserve or 


208 


Daisy Seymour, 


shyness, which made it pleasanter to him to be 
drawn out than force himself into notice, to re- 
ceive than to make advances ; perhaps from care- 
less indolence or ease - loving heedlessness of con- 
sequences, he indulged in the present pleasure, 
perhaps from a thorough enjoyment of the fresh- 
ness, originality and spirit of the impulsive but 
really good - hearted girl. — Whatever the reason, 
he certainly showed a much greater interest in 
Mary than in her more intelligent, womanly and 
unselfish cousin. 

While Hattie and Daisy revived their former 
affectionate confidences, and talked over all that 
had befallen them during the year, — their intel- 
lectual attainments, their religious hopes and 
trials, and their plans for the future, with re- 
miniscences of the past and inquiries and affection- 
ate interest in all that concerned their school - 
mates, — their most serious talk brightened and 
seasoned with flashes of mirth, sportive conceits 
of fancy, airy thoughts and lively humor,— their 


New and Higher Thoughts, 209 

1 

gayest mirth softened and refined by indwelling 
purity and deep, earnest purpose ; — while they 
were thus enjoying and helping each other, Mary 
and Percy were measuring their wits in lively 
sparring, loitering about the piano with singing 
and sentimental nonsense, or stirring a witching 
flutter in each other’s hearts by a half unconscious 
tenderness in an eye -- glance or eloquent flushing 
of the cheek. 

The visit passed pleasantly, and came to an 
end too soon. The girls were initiated into the 
mysteries of butter and cheese - making, learned 
the names of the cows as they were driven down 
from pasture, and ate lunch on the heaps of fra- 
grant hay when Percy and Harry were among the 
hay - makers. They had climbed the hill-tops 
and explored the wooded valleys, been to picnics 
and on fishing excursions, and reveled in the 
delights of country freedom and country hospi- 
tality. 

Before they left, a visit to the mountains was 


210 


Daisy Seymour. 


planned, which should bring them together again. 
Mrs. Seymour had a sister living at North Con- 
way, about a mile from the little village, and 
during a visit at Hemlocks the previous winter, 
she had exacted a promise that the family should 
come to see her the ensuing summer, and leave 
Daisy with her for several weeks. The party, 
consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Seymour, Daisy and 
the two little boys, were to go as soon as the 
haying was finished, driving in the family car- 
riage. Mr. and Mrs. Seymour and the children 
were to remain only a week, leaving Daisy with 
Mrs. Windsor, whose young married daughter 
and her husband were spending the summer with 
her, and would take Daisy under their protection 
for the various excursions among the mountains. 
Percy had made an engagement with a party of 
young men, most of them his college classmates, 
who were to make a walking tour through that 
region, and would fix their head - quarters at North 
Conway while their friends were there. 


New and Higher Thoughts. 211 

The plan was successfully carried out, and the 
visit full of enjoyment and incident. Daisy was 
unsophisticated enough to enjoy the novelty and 
variety of the social life there, with its freedom 
and rest and unconventionality, the tonic of the 
mountain air and the elixir of the out - door life ; 
she had sense and humor enough to be amused at 
the aifectations, and vanities, and apings of fash- 
ion, and ludicrous attempts at style, displayed by 
by those who make a journey to the mountains in 
much the same way that they buy a new bonnet 
or parade on Broadway ; and she had poetry, and 
sentiment, and devotion enough to be almost 
lifted out of herself in the fullness of her delight 
amonor those "rand old mountains. She was 
peculiarly impressible to the influences of nature, 
and they spoke to her almost with the voice of 
divinity. 

Nothing can give us so high a conception of 
everlasting strength, and of eternal, unshaken, 
self-centered, self- poised existence, as these 


212 Daisy Seymour, 

rock - ribbed, cloud - capped mountain ranges 
\Yhich have defied the storms and convulsions of 
ages. Whatever may have been the earth - throes 
through which their giant forms sprang into be- 
ing, and reared their crested heads to battle un- 
harmed with the forces of the sky, they stretch 
themselves on the bosom of the riven mother - 
earth, and forevermore rest undisturbed in their 
grand repose, We look at them and compre- 
hend something of immovable foundations. We 
grow strong in endeavoring to grasp the broad 
base and bold, rocky sides in one steady view ; 
the spirit itself springs into a higher region as the 
eye follows the lofty peaks and rocky summits 
■ outlined with delicate tracery on the blue heaven 
that stoops to meet them, or lost in clouds where 
they hide themselves with baffling suggestions of 
hight beyond measure or vision. 

The sea is glorious in its magnificent expanse 
and boundless depth. The heart swells at the 
wild roar of its seething waves, and moans with 


New and Higher Thoughts, 213 

uncomprehended pain at its undertone of sad- 
ness. We watch the wild surf rolling shore- 
ward, tossing up a foamy crest, and how the 
spirit rises exultingly to meet it ! We see the on- 
rushing swell of water, playing and frolicking in 
its mighty force, leaping up and catching the 
sunshine and tossing it back in a thousand dia- 
monds, its myriad ripples and wavelets dancing 
and caressing each other, and then in an instant 
more the wind catches it and the white foam 
breaker tosses and tumbles and rolls in bounding 
chase after its fellows. We toss our arms in 
wild welcome at its approach ; with winged feet 
we plunge inlo its embrace. Who remembers 
black waters rolling in sullen masses under a 
leaden sky, in the exultant, bounding delight of 
sunshine and favorable breezes ? 

• But the sea is too much like ourselves. Its 
storms, and its sighs, and its play in the sun- 
shine, are too human to help the heart grow 
strong and calm in endurance and faith. Its 


214 


Daisy Seyn%pur, 


unrest evermore stirs an unspoken want, an indef- 
inite longing, within us. But by the mountains 
we climb up into the very presence of Jehovah. 
We feel that His throne is established forever and 
ever. With unutterable repose we rest in the 
conscious love and care of an unchangeable God. 

” The invisible things . . . are clearly seen, 
being understood by the things that are made, 
even His eternal power and Godhead.” 

As Daisy looked upon them in the early morn- 
ing, with the golden sunlight crowning their 
summits, or when, the fading sunset clothing 
them in purple mists, they were ever calling to an 
act of solemn worship. And her heart re- 
sponded, — "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling- 
place in all generations. Before the mount- 
ains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst 
formed the earth and the world, even from 
everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.” — 
" Which by his strength fast setteth the mountains, 
being girded with power.” "As the mount- 


New and Higher Thoughts, 215 

ains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord 
is round about his people from henceforth even 
forever.” ” But in the last days it shall come to 
pass, that the mountain of the house of the Lord 
shall be established in the top of the mountains, 
and shall be exalted above the hills, and all peo- 
ple shall flow unto it.” 



CHAPTER XVIII. 


USING EDGED TOOLS. 



URING the first week of the visit, 
Daisy saw but little of the Morris party, 
as they were boarding down at ” The 
Three Elms,” and IMrs. Windsor lived 
a mile from the village in the other direction. 


The pedestrian company had encamped about half 
way between them, and Percy oscillated from one 
to the Other as circumstance or fancy led him. 
Soon after Mr. and Mrs. Seymour left, an ar- 
rangement was made which brought the girls to- 
gether. 

IMr. Morris and family were going to make a 
trip to Montreal, and as the weather was very 


o 


Using Edged Tools. 217 

warm, Hattie and Mary preferred to remain at 
the mountain village, rather than endure the heat 
and dust and fatigue of traveling, and sight - see- 
ing in a city. Mr. Morris did not like to leave 
them at the boarding house without a chaperon, 
and persuaded Mrs. Windsor to take them to 
board with her until their return from Montreal. 
This was very pleasant for the girls. Percy and 
his friends were attentive, and every day brought 
a new enjoyment or added a fresh zest to those 
already familiar. They made excursions to 
Diana’s Baths, Dcho Lake, The Cathedral, and 
other places of interest in the vicinity, walked 
and rode, played croquet or sat through hours 
of the dreamy summer afternoon on the shady 
piazza, with books or embroidery, in chatty so- 
ciability or delicious idleness, silence and rev- 
erie. 

“ A pleasing land of drowsy head it was ; — 

Of dreams that wave before the half - shut eye, 

And of gay castles in the clouds that pass. 

Forever flushing round a summer sky.” 


218 


Daisy Seymour, 


These young people, — pausing in their work 
and throwing off the usual pressure of care^ 
and responsibility, as well as of future bur- ^ 
dens, giving themselves up to rest and play, 
cutting adrift from yesterday and to - morrow, 
floating idly in the sunshine of to - day, — 
would sometimes drift into frivolity and nonsense, 
and seem to lose their higher and better selves in 
their butterfly life. But they were too sincere 
and earnest in their character, their aims and 
principles were too deeply rooted, to suffer them 
to float long on eddying currents, toying with the 
idle breezes, or entirely to lose sight of the port 
towards which they were steering. In the main, 
they made their vacation a refreshing rest and a 
healthful, invigorating recreation, relaxing from 
vigorous work long enough to brush the cobwebs 
from their brains, clear the sand from their eyes, 

1^ wash away the stains of toil from their hands, ‘ 
put aside their worn and dust - covered garments, 
and clothe the spirit anew for labor and conflict. 


Using Edged Tools. 


219 


Percy and Mary kept up their gay badinage 
and tacit appropriation of each other’s society ; 

• and since everybody had more than enough to - 
enjoy, no one interfered or seemed to care. No 
one except Mrs. Windsor. She was disturbed a 
little by their interest in each other. She felt a 
little responsible for the doings of the young people 
while they were under her care, and thought 
it was quite unworthy of Percy to fritter his time 
and waste his thoughts in that foolish way^ on a 
thoughtless girl like Mary Morris, especially as 
she had taken for granted that his affections were 
already centered on a more worthy object. 

One day she said to Daisy : ” Mr. Willard and 
Miss Morris seem to think a great deal of each 
other.” 

” Yes,” said Daisy, simply, " they seem to 
enjoy each other. Mary is very entertaining. 
She is quite the life of our party.” 

" But it seems to me he is very particular in 
his attentions to her, and she appears to claim 


220 


Daisy Sey?nour, 


him as if she had a right. I should not think 
she was the kind of girl that he would care 
for.” 

Daisy looked up inquiringly. Mrs. Wind- 
sor went on : "I do n’t think she would be very 
suitable for a minister’s wife.” 

" A minister’s wife ! ” exclaimed Daisy in 
amazement. ” Who ever thought of that ! ” 

" Well, soniebody ought to think of it,” said 
Mrs. Windsor, pointedly. 

If Daisy thought about it, she did not show 
any disturbed feeling. Whether she felt satisfied 
that Mary Morris would make a good minister’s 
wife, or was sure she would never have the op- 
portunity of proving, or her own heart was still 
slumbering in unconscious if^norance of its desires 
and hopes, she betrayed no jealous solicitude. 

The very next morning they went berrying, 
down through the wooded pastures to the shore 
of the lake, and Percy and Mary hurried on to- 
gether " to have the first pick ; ” while the rest 


Using Edged Tools. 221 

scattered apart, loitering for any way-side attrac- 
tion, till Daisy was left quite behind. When 
Percy came back to hunt her up, she had a mer- - 
ry reply to his half - bantering concern lest she 
were lost, and hurried on ” so as not to keep him 
away from the rest ; ” and yet a close observer 
might have seen a shade of troubled thought on 
her face, as if she had missed something, she hardly 
knew what, and was puzzling herself to see how 
it had gone. But that bright morning was no 
time for the growth of any sickly sentiment. 
The blue - berries were scarce, but it was worth 
while to spend an hour among those low pines, 
breaking through the sweet ferns, brakes and 
wild - roses, the dew still heavy on them, with 
the odorous pine boughs sweeping across the 
face, and the sound of the rippling water break- 
ing idly against tlie shore. A ramble in a wild, 
rough place gives a good tone to the mind, and 
it puts one in good spirits to find that one gets 
on tolerably in a rough, hard place. As tlie 


222 


Daisy Seymour. 


foot clings to a rock, springs over a chasm or a 
stretch of swampy moss, climbing, leaping or 
swino'in^ down on the shrubs or branches with 
steady head and strong muscle, one feels more 
sure that there is something tough and strong and 
well -• balanced in one’s self. 

But if Daisy’s equanimity was undisturbed, 
Mary grew unequal in her spirits ; — now gay 
and now sober, and often speaking impatiently as 
if fretted and dissatisfied. 

" What is the matter, Mary ? ” said Hattie, 
one day, as the former tossed her gloves spite- 
fully across the room and jerked her hat till she 
broke the elastic. 

"Oh, nothing. Only I feel cross.” 

" But what makes you feel cross ? ” 

" Do you know Samson’s riddle, — ^ Out of 
the strong came forth sweetness ?’. I have been 
trying to solve it, and it is a tough thing. One 
can be either strong or sweet, but sweetness out 
of. strength ; — that’s the problem.” 


Using Edged Tools, 223 

”You speak in riddles, truly. What do you 
mean ? ” 

" Oh, nothing. I wish you would not bother 
me.” 

The next morning Mary and Percy were sit- 
ting on the piazza when Henry Morton rode up, 
leading a lady’s saddle horse, and Daisy came out 
in her riding habit. Henry Morton was the 
young lawyer who used to visit Harry so much 
at Hemlocks, during the winter. 

” You are going to ride, Daisy? ” said Percy, 
springing up. 

Yes ; is it not a fine morning for a good 
gallop ? ” 

" Pleasant morning enough ; but it seems to 
me you are enjoying it all by yourselves. Could n’t 
the rest of us have a share ? ” 

"Yes, if we had thought of it,” answered 
Morton. " My sister is going, and a few others 
down there, and I persuaded Miss Seymour to 
join us for once. You belong to each other so 


224 


Daisy Seymour. 


exclusively here, that it is not often any of us 
lesser divinities can lure away a goddess.” 

” Better come up to Olympus and share with 
the gods, than tempt them away to the haunts 
of men,” said Percy. "But are you sure this 
horse is safe? He has a wicked eye.” 

" The horse is all right ; sure - footed and 
easily managed, though a little restive just 
now.” 

Percy walked around, examined the girths and 
adjusted the saddle, while Daisy was button- 
ing her gauntlets, and then, paying no attention 
to Morton as he was waiting there, assisted 
her to mount, and arranged her skirt with a 
quiet assurance that made the young lawyer bite 
his lip. 

He looked after them steadily as they rode 
away, and then walked back t6 his seat with an 
absent look on his face. 

" Daisy’s habit is very becoming to her,” 
said Mary. "How pretty she is, and how 


Using Edged Tools, 


225 


well she rides,” she added, as he made no re- 

piy- 

They watched the riders till the horses quick- 
ened their pace and disappeared around a curve 
in the road. 

"I don’t like the looks of that horse,” said 
Percy, *^and Daisy is not much used to the saddle. 
I hope nothing will happen to them.” 

Mary remembered that she rode that same 
horse with John Wellman only the other day, 
and Percy had no concern about it. " It does 
not matter if I break my neck,” she thought, with 
a little twinge of pain. 

Percy was restless and uneasy until he saw 
Morton and Daisy slowly cantering up the 
road ; whether it was the horse, or Morton, that 
worried him, Mary did not know. When 
they rode up to the door, Daisy was very sober, 
and Morton’s face was pale. He stood quietly 
by the horse’s head while Percy lifted her from 
the saddle. The ride seemed to have fatigued 


226 


Daisy Seymour. 


her, for she did not make her appearance again 
until dinner. Morton left town the next day. If 
Percy had any suspicion what he and Daisy had 
said to each other that morning, he never be- 
trayed it, and Daisy never offered any explana- 
tion when Harry used to wonder afterwards why 
Mr. Morton did not come to Hemlocks any 


more. 



CHAPTER XIX. 


SELF - EEVELATIONS. 





morning Mary was very 
busy finishing some little sketches 
of scenery that she had made during 
the week. She was not apt to be in- 
dustrious, but some of those beautiful elms that 
dot the green meadows had so delighted her eye 
that she could not resist copying them, and here 
and there a bit of scenery had haunted her till 
she had reproduced it in tangible form. She did 
not care much for the birch bark treasures, . 
mosses, minerals, and such mementos as many 
of the visitors prized^ but these IJttie pictures 


228 


Daisy Seymour, 


embodied all her sentiments and poetry. Percy 
came in and inquired for Daisy. She had gone 
out with Mrs. Windsor to see a sick old lady. 
He was sorry ; he " wanted to consult her.” 

"Won’t I do?” said Mary, saucily. "lean 
advise about the tie of your cravat, or the color 
of your gloves, or the most graceful way of loung- 
ing in your chair ; which is it ? ” 

"As it does not happen to be either of those 
important subjects, I must wait for Daisy 
and he seated himself on the other side of the ta- 
ble and looked over her sketches. They were 
most of them simple studies and roughly finished, 
but were really very fine, and he was surprised 
to see the talent displayed. 

" I had no idea you were so much of an artist. 
How does it happen ? ” 

" It did not happen ; it grew,” she answered 
him, but she said to herself, "I believe he thinks 
it is a wonder if I can do anything ; and I am 
afraid this is the only thing I can do well ; and 


Self-Hevelations. 


229 


this is no credit to me, for it costs no effort.” 
She went on with her work, thinking; bitter 
thoughts, — "Percy amuses himself with me, be- 
cause I am- simply amusing. He never sits 
down to a quiet, sensible talk with me, because 
he don’t find anything in me to answer it. 
lam just a rattle-pated girl, — nothing more. I 
remember Mrs. Lawrence once said, we could 
tell a person’s estimate of us by the conversation 
they addressed to us. Percy Willard thinks I 
am a lively, entertaining, good - hearted fool. 
And I have never given him any reason to think 
otherwise.”. She worked away vigorously, shad- 
ing a granite bowlder, and gnarled trunk of a 
dead tree twisted over it, " But he has never 
tried to lift me to a higher level. He has stooped 
to meet me on this ground. It is his fault as 
much as mine, that we have only played together; 
at least he might have helped it.” Her self- 
condemnation was not morbid ; she was ready 
to be just to herself, even by blaming another. 


230 


Daisy Seymour, 


Percy was making scrolls and borders on 
the margins of her pictures, rallying her occasion- 
ally on her unusual silence and diligence. After 
n while Hattie came in, and Mary gathered up 
her drawings and went to her room. She first 
put away very carefully the pictures upon which 
Percy had left his pencil marks, and then sat 
down by the window and thought ; — thought 
seriously for a long time. Out of that serious 
thought a noble conception of womanhood dawned 
in her mind, with a bitter regret that she had 
lost so many of its possibilities through her own 
carelessness and blindness, and an incipient 
purpose to redeem what was left by earnest, pa- 
tient effort. 

The young men had been away several days on 
a tramp to Jackson Falls, and returned late one 
evening. Mary came down unusually early the 
next morning, and as she opened the parlor door, 
she saw, through the open window, Percy and 
Daisy standing on the piazza in earnest talk or 


Self- Revelations, 


231 


eloquent silence, she could hardly tell which. 
They were looking up to the mountains, and their 
thoughts seemed to have gofie quite away from 
themselves, up beyond the visible into the invisi- 
ble. Mary stood a moment spell - bound. She 
thought : " Percy Willard never looked at me 
with a face like that. I put his manhood to sleep 
and belittle his soul into frivolity. There was 
not enough in me to take his measure. I never 
saw his full hight before. And Daisy stands 
there with comprehension and full sympathy with 
his best thoughts.” For a single moment she 
hated Daisy. Turning suddenly, she hurried out 
at a side door, down the garden path, trailing her 
dress over the grassy border as she paced rapidly 
up and down the w^alk. 

Half an hour later she came into the breakfast- 
room, just as they were sitting down to the table. 
Daisy had brought Percy in to breakfast with 
them. Mary had in her hand a cluster of rose - 
buds; she came around to Daisy and fastened 


232 


Daisy Seymour. 


them in her hair, then bent down and kissed her 
with a tender, beseeching look, as if she were 
asking her pardon for something. 

” What is it, Mary ? ” said Daisy. 

” Only a good morning with the dew on it,” 
said she, lightly. 

” I should think it was ' a good morning with 
the dew on it, ’ ” said Hattie. " See your dress, 
Mary. Where have you been? ” 

” Only in the garden.” 

'' And what could have sent you into the gar- 
den at this unseasonable hour ? ” asked Percy. 
”Are you taking to poetry and romance, and 
’ brushing the morning dew,’ like other senti- 
mental young ladies ? ” 

"I went there to bury a demon,” she answered, 
gravely. 

” Bury a demon ! And where did you find a 
demon in this mountain paradise ? ” 

” I found it in the parlor when I came down 
this morning.” 


Self - Hevdations, 


233 


” Not alive, I hope ? ” 

” Very much alive, I assure you.” 

” And you killed it and buried it ? ” 

” I buried it. I am not sure how dead it was.” 
” You frighten me. How do I know but, the 
next time I take a leisurely stroll down the gar- 
den patli, with all my armor unjointed, this same 
half - murdered demon will struggle up from his 
living grave and spring upon me with deadly 
clutch?” 

Mary looked steadily into his face and said, 
slowly, — "If I grappled with the evil thing in 
its full-blooded strength, and conquered it too, 
you are a coward if you are afraid of its ghost.” 

" I will brace myself up to any fighting after 
such an insinuation. Must I quarrel with you 
to prove my mettle ? ” 

" If you find me a spirit of evil.” 

, " How you talk this morning, Mary. I should 
think you had been doing something desperate,” 
interrupted Hattie ; and she turned the conversa- 


234 


Daisy Seymour. 


tion to their plans for the day. Percy- said to 
himself ; ” There is more in that girl than I gave 
her credit for. I wonder what she meant.” And 
then he dismissed it from his thought. 

The next morning they went to the village, 
three miles distant, to spend the day with some 
friends boarding there. After dinner they went 
down into a flour mill near by, " to improve their 
minds and gain useful knowledge,” as Mary said. 
Having satisfied their curiosity by following the 
process of grinding through its details, and pow- 
dered themselves with flour, they rambled up and 
down the . mill stream. Across the bridge it 
widened into a sluggish basin, with broken trees 
and black stumps projecting above the surface, 
and apparently making it impassible for boats. 
Several little boats, moored just under the bridge, 
attracted their attention, and they were surprised 
to learn that this unpicturesque stream was the 
outlet of a lovely little lake hidden in the forests 
a mile or so above ; and, moreover, that the 


Self - Revelations, 


235 


white pond - lilies were blossoming in great abund- 
ance around its shores. They decided at once to 
make an excursion into this primeval wilderness, 
and enrich themselves with the bounty of the 
waters, — if not with fish, at least with flowers. 

After tea, they started off in two boats, which 
were skillfully piloted between the stumps, around 
the rocks and through the hidden obstructions in 
the channel ; and just when they seemed pushing 
at random through an inundated swamp, the boats 
floated suddenly out into a smooth, deep lake, 
whose wooded shores sloped down from the em- 
bosoming hills, the unbroken forests climbing to 
their summits and stretching on in every direc- 
tion. The surface of the water was unruffled 
save by a few ripples where a breath of air touched 
it for a moment, or an insect dimpled it with its 
gossamer wings. A delicate flush from the rose - 
colored clouds tinted the surface like the mantling 
blush on a maiden’s cheek, and all along the op- 
posite shore, the green lily pads and white lilies 


236 


Daisy Seymour, 


with their golden hearts floated peacefully on the 
water, rooted in safe anchorage far below. 

A shout went up from the boats as the beauti- 
ful scene burst suddenly upon them. They rested 
a few moments on their oars to enjoy the unex- 
pected sight, and then pushed across to gather 
the abundant blossoms. 

What frolics they had pulling at the long stems, 
two or three hands reaching after the same lily, 
tossing the drippings flowers into the boat, or 
sending a shower of drops into each other’s faces, 
singing and laughing and chatting, or relapsing 
into a reverent hush as the silence and solitude of 
the scene brooded over them. 

The fading light admonished them to tear 
themselves away from the enchanting spot. Loiter- 
ing to gather a few more lilies, one boat was al- 
ready on its way and the other slowly turning, 
when Daisy reached out after - such a lovely 
lily.” The vigorous oar - stroke sent the boat 
ahead with a sudden leap through the water, and 


Ill the flush of an eye Daisy was clown among the lilies. Page 237. 









4 




t 

4 


r 

V * 




* 



f 




Self- Revelations, 


237 


tlie lily stem held fast to its root. In the flash 
of an eye Daisy was down among the lilies, and 
the boat more than double its length distant from 
her. 

The screams of the girls, the quick whirl of 
the boat, the sharp word of command, the plash- 
ing in the water, made such a scene of fright, 
confusion and danger that their senses were half 
dazed, so they could hardly tell how it was that 
Percy and Daisy came to be sitting in the bottom 
of the boat, their garments dripping with water, 
and their hair clinging heavy around their pale 
faces.' They knew that Percy had been in the 
other boat, and that Daisy’s scream had brought 
him first to her help, and made him quickest and 
strongest in the fescue. 

As it frequently happens in the reaction after a 
sudden fright, the first moments of utter thank- 
fulness and assurance of safety are followed by a 
light gayety, and the .tongue dwells laughingly 
on the details of the dangerous occurrence. So 


238 


Daisy Seymour. 


with them ; after the first shock was over, the 
lauo-h and chatter and son^ awoke the echoes with 
re -doubled sound. But though their spirits 
seemed unchecked, they did not mock at danger 
nor laugh at deliverance. As the shadows gath- 
ered among the hills, and the sunset light faded 
from the water, they wound through the tortuous 
channel with subdued voices and a hush in their 
hearts, as if solemnly remembering that, even on 
the " lilied pond,” life and death lie close to each 
other. 

As the evening was already growing dark and 
damp when they stepped ashore, and Daisy had 
been sitting so long in her wet clothing, the ladies 
would not allow her to run any farther risk by an 
evening ride, even after putting on dry garments, 
and insisted that she should remain with them 
until the next day ; so she and Hattie spent the 
night there. With thoughtful care they took 
every precaution to guard against any serious con- 
sequences from the accident, and, though it was 


Self - Revelations, 


239 


several (lavs before she recovered from the shock, 
she suffered no ill effects. 

During the ride home that evening, Percy was 
silent and self - absorbed. In vain Mary rallied 
liim for wrapping himself in his own thoughts. 
To all her lively chatter, he answered in an ab- 
sent - minded manner. Now Mary was really a 
kind - hearted girl, and did not mean to hurt an- 
other’s feelings nor shock the, sensibilities ; but, 
with her careless, mischief - loving spirit, she did 
not exercise a quick perception, ready tact and 
unselfish consideration of another’s mood or feel- 
ing. She did not mean to indulge in cruel levity 
or heartlessness ; but sometimes her sport was 
quite out of place. Her sense of the ludicrous 
was so keen, it was so easy for her to hold up 
anything in its comical aspect, that she was apt 
to indulge her propensities at the expense of those 
about her. She had such a merry way of being 
naughty, and her mirth so often verged on 
naughtiness, that those who loved her laughed 


240 


Daisy Seymour, 


while they reproved her, and scolded while they 
laughed. But sometimes she ventured too far. 
To - night, mischievous imps danced in her eyes 
and threw a comical light on the grim, silent, ab- 
stracted figure by her side, and the light, teasing 
words slipped off her tongue so easily, that she 
did not realize how harshly her nonsense grated 
on his serious mood. At last she began to tease 
him on his knightly adventure in rescuing a fair 
lady from imminent peril. 

” Oh, do n’t ! ” he interrupted, with a shudder. 

"Why, I suppose there was no real danger,” 
she said, " in sucli a little pond, and we were not 
far from the shore, to say nothing of the half 
dozen valiant men ready to rush to the rescue.” 

"But it is dreadful* to think of what miffht 
have happened.” 

" If Daisy had been lost” 

• " There would n’t have been' anything left, ” 
he interrupted almost savagely. 

Mary was not so obtuse but that she drew the 


Self - Mevelations, 


241 


logical conclusion, that, if - one object filled the 
eye so as to hide the rest of the world, it was 
because that object was so close that it covered 
the whole field of vision. She too relapsed into 
silence. 

The next few days passed very quietly. The 
weather was rainy, and the girls busied them- 
selves with their fancy - work, or in arranging 
and packing their collections of curiosities and 
souvenirs. Mary applied herself diligently to 
her drawing. She had suddenly grown enthusi- 
astic and industrious in making pictures. When 
Percy came in and found them occupied, he 
would take a beok and amuse himself, or read 
aloud to them. 

It would not be easy to describe the change 
which had come over Percy and Mary. Perhaps 
they were not fully conscious of it themselves, 
and a careless observer would not have noticed it. 
But Mrs. Windsor was an interested observer, 
and she " put it down in her mind that Percy 


242 


Daisy Seymour, 


had come to himself, and Miss Morris had found 
that it was of no use.” What was of no use, she 
did not state to herself. 

Percy and Mary did not make any allusions or 
explanations. One day he took up one of her 
pictures, as she sat drawing. It was a little 
sketch of a clump of elms under which they had 
one day spent the afternoon. Daisy and Hattie 
had brought out their portfolios, and wrote letters 
while she and Percy talked or sang snatches of 
songs. When they were ready to go back to tea, 
she had kept them waiting while she walked 
off a short distance and sketched the trees, and 
Percy, Daisy and Hattie, just' as they were 
grouped, waiting impatiently for her. She had 
finished up the rough sketch with unusual care. 

”You are left out, Mary,” said he. Can’t 
you put yourself in with us ? there is room on 
this side, and then the picture will be complete.” 

'' But it would not be true. It is better as 
it is,” she said, without looking up from her work. 


Self- Hevelations, 


243 


He looked at the picture a long time, and sat 
silent, quite absorbed in his own thoughts. After 
a while he took up a piece of paper and wrote 
absently, as if, while playing with the pencil, his 
thought had expressed itself unintentionally. 
When Mary gathered up her pictures after he had 
gone, she took up the paper and read : ” A man 
carries within him the germ of his most excep- 
tional actions ; and if we wise people make emi- 
nent fools of ourselves sometimes, we must en- 
dure the conclusion that we carry a few grains of 
folly.” She bit her lip, remembering how she 
had enjoyed that afternoon. Whether or not he 
intended the scrap of writing for her eye, she 
put it away with the picture. 

Probably Percy Willard never suspected the 
genuine interest awakened in the heart of the 
merry girl, never dreamed of the resolution with 
which she smothered the pain, the good sense 
which learned wisdom from her mistakes and 
heedlessness, nor the healthy temper which 


244 Daisy Seymour, 

blamed her own folly without bitterness or weak 
self-pity. 

Their summer play -‘day came to an end with 
the end of the month. Mr. and Mrs. Morris 
had extended their tour to Ottawa, leaving the 
girls three weeks at Mrs. Windsor’s. Then 
Mary and Hattie joined them at the Glen House. 
Harry came to go with Daisy to Mt. Washing- 
ton, and Percy and his party followed them in 
that direction. They met again at the Glen 
House, and made the excursion to the top of Mt. 
Washington in company; then they separated, 
Mr. Morris and family to return by way of Gor- 
ham and Portland, the pedestrians to extend 
their trip around the Franconia mountains, and 
Harry and Daisy back to Conway and then home. 

When Mary Morris returned to school, she 
took up her studies with unusual diligence. She 
did not change suddenly into a model scholar. 
It is not so easy to break up old habits, but she 
made more improvement than during both the 


Self - Revelation, 


245 


previous years. The mischief - loving girls 
missed something of her old careless frolicking, 
and no one found her so imperturbably good - 
natured as she used to be. When we set our- 
selves steadily to accomplish a task, or overcome 
faults and discipline ourselves, we meet obstacles, 
make failures, and suffer mortifications and dis- 
appointments which chafe the temper and curb 
the spirits, much more than when we float idly 
down the current careless of the direction. Be- 
sides, Mary’s good resolutions and efforts were 
founded only in her own good sense and natural 
conscience. There was no gracious sweetness of 
comfort and strength from above. The year was 
profitable, but not a very happy one to her. Just 
before she left school, she became a Christian, 
and then her character and life became an illus- 
tration of the marvelous power of God’s grace 
to sanctify the natural dispositions, so that even 
the traits which had been her greatest trials and 
defects, developed into Christian virtues, though 


246 


Daisy Seymour. 


bearing the unmistakable stamp of her own in- 
dividuality. God finds a use for whatever He 
endows us with. He sets some lives in the sun- 
shine and some in the shade, some on the hill - 
side and some in the valley. The tough fiber 
breasts the storm, the sensitive plant seeks shel- 
ter from it. God made them both. Let souls, 
royal in strength and lofty courage and patient en- 
durance and undying hope, thank God and ten- 
derly care for the despairing, fainting ones who 
sink helpless under the first trial. 

In a year after Mary left school, her father 
failed, and the family were reduced from affluence 
to a condition almost penniless. Mr. Morris’s 
health and reason were shattered by the blow. 
He became a helpless child, to be guarded and 
cared for with watchful solicitude. Then Mary 
roused herself with energy, courage and hope, and 
turned her one talent, as she called it, to good 
account. Through many domestic trials and 
much discouragement, she worked and waited till 


Self - Hevelation, 


247 


she achieved comparative success and became al- 
most the dependence of the family. At first, she 
hired a room, and, through the influence of for- 
mer friends, secured a few pupils in drawing. 
The number of her pupils increased slowly, till 
she had a profitable class in various departments 
of her art. Meanwhile she had devoted all her 
spare time to practice, and finally ventured to 
offer some little pictures for sale. To her sur- 
prise, she found a ready market for them. 

In two or three years she had worked her way 
through difficulties, with heroic courage, perse- 
verance, and cheerful faith, and established her- 
self in her profession with a fair income. As the 
sale of her pictures became more profitable, she 
gave up her classes and devoted herself to her 
art. 

Who knows the burden of home care that she 
carried, — the dull pain that lurked under her 
cheerfulness, — the dreariness of solitary and un- 
successful work, — the longing of youthful hopes 


248 


Daisy Seymour, 


and dreams, — the pressure of pecuniary anxieties, 
— the stiw^les to save those she loved from suf- 
fering? Who shall open the pages that she kept 
sealed V Who shall unfasten the clasp that shut 
in the story of her inner life ? 

The bright face, with its short clustering curls 
and laughing eyes that gladdened many a heart 
as she came and went in her daily walks to her 
studio, told no tales of shadows resting on her 
heart. Brave, strong, true heart, — 

** Keeping, with many a light disguise, 

The secret of self-sacrifice,” — 

God knew it all. 

Late, but not too late, came the release from 
home anxieties and burdens, when the younger 
members of the family could lift the care from her 
shoulders, and she could look with answering love 
into the face of a true man whose rich nature 
grew purer and sweeter, through the royal woman- 
hood of his beloved wife. 



CHAPTER XX. 

FINAL VIEWS. 

IME hurries on. Four years had 
passed since Daisy came to Hemlocks ; 
years full of interest and incident to her, 
C through which she had been sowing the 
seeds or developing the germs of much that future 
years realized. These had been years of growth. 
Her whole nature had grown larger, stronger, 
richer, sweeter, and her face, figure and motions 
interpreted with a clearer distinctness the spirit 
which breathed through them. She had not yet 
attained the completeness of womanhood ; — that 
comes only with the larger life and riper experi- 
ence of years ; but her present character was full 


250 


Daisy Seymour, 


of promise for the future. She suggested Words^ 
worth’s beautiful Portrait : 

“ She was a phantom of delight 
When first she gleamed upon my sight; ' 

A lovely apparition, sent 
To be a moment’s ornament. 

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ; 

Like twilight, too, her dusky hair; 

But all things else about her drawn 
From may -time and the cheerful dawn; 

A dancing shape, an image gay, 

To haunt, to startle and waylay. 

‘‘ I saw her upon nearer view, 

. A spirit, yet a woman, too 1 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin liberty ; 

A countenance in which did meet 
Sweet records, promises as sweet ; * ■ 

A creature not too bright and good 
For human nature’s daily food, — 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles. 

“ And now I see, with eye serene. 

The very pulse of the machine ; 

A being breathing thoughtful breath, 

A traveler betwixt life and*death ; 

The reason firm, the temperate will. 

Endurance, foresight, strength and skill. 


Final Views, 


251 


A perfect woman, nobly planned 
To warn, to comfort and command ; 

And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel light.” 

It would be far from the trutli to say that Daisy 
Seymour realized this description. Perfection is 
of slow growth, and hardly reaches maturity dur- 
ing the life - time of human nature. Sin and 
weakness , ignorance and blindness dwarf and dis- 
tort the fairest growth. Only the grace of God 
in our hearts can infuse vitality and strength into 
our aspirations and efforts, and so, bringing us 
nearer to Hiin, make us approximate to excel- 
lence and completeness. However earnest our 
endeavor to harmonize our motive and will, pas- 
sion and affection, into sweet concord with the 
highest law of our being, ” the sad music of hu- 
manity ” echoes a mournful refrain, or its harsh 
tones strike discordant into the sweetest melody. 
To grow in grace and in the knowledge of God 
our Saviour, is the secret of all true growth, the 
basis of genuine culture and real progress. Then 


252 Daisy Seymour, 

the whole being lifts itself, and moves on towards 
the infinite. 

The first year at her father’s had been the most 
striking in its influence upon Daisy. She was at 
that impressible transition period when thought- 
less, impulsive girlhood stands on the threshold 
of real life, with its trials, temptations, hopes and 
possibilities. The change in her circumstances, 
the death of loved ones, the new duties devolv- 
ing on her, the new friends whom she learned to 
love, the necessity for exertion, self-reliance, and 
energy and firmness of purpose, had balanced her 
character in a calmer self - poise, and strengthened 
it into greater force than her natural disposition 
would have developed. 

The next two years were not so eventful. She 
. taught music and French at the Academy during 
the Spring and Fall terms, spent the winter 
quietly at home, taking her play - time in the 
summer when there was frequently a succession 
of visitors at Hemlocks ; or she would take a 


Fhial Views, 


253 


short journey, or visit among friends. The last 
year had been rich in enjoyment and full of op- 
portunities for culture. Through Mrs. Law- 
rence’s thoughtful interest, she had received an 
offer to go to Europe, nominally as governess in 
a family who were to spend the year abroad, but 
really as companion and friend. The two young 
ladies had left school, but intended to continue 
their studies in some departments, and Daisy’s 
work would be to encourage, sympathize and 
study with them, rather than instruct them. 
Tiieir mother was quite an invalid, and would 
value Daisy’s society for her own sake, and Daisy 
could relieve her of many cares and responsibili- 
ties which her ill health made a burden to her. 
They were to spend the winter at Dresden, but, 
during the fall and spring, would travel through 
France, Switzerland and Italy. 

When Daisy received this proposal, Lucy, with 
her little girl, had come home to spend several 
months, while her husband was in San Francisco 


254 


Daisy Seymour, 


superintending some business affairs, and settling 
his plans in reference to removing his family there, 
should his enterprise prove successful. Daisy 
was not needed at home, and there seemed no 
reason why she should not avail herself of such 
an opportunity. 

The year had been very pleasant, realizing her 
most sanguine anticipations, opening a thousand 
new avenues of pleasure, and affording ample 
means for cultivating her taste, broadening her 
views and enlarging her knowledge. Their party 
met witli the annoyances, delays and perplexities 
common to travelers, and were sometimes disap- 
pointed, sometimes looked longingly back to their 
own American homes and the friends left behind ; 
they realized no exception to the ordinary experi- 
ence of humanity ; but their plans were generally 
successful, and their enjoyment had as few draw- 
backs as could be expected. Daisy so endeared 
herself to the family that her place with them 
was that of an honored, trusted, loved daughter. 


Final Views, 


255 


Now she reaped the benefit of her faithful study 
and writing during Percy Willard’s tour abroad. 
She was prepared to appreciate and enjoy scenes 
and objects with which she had become familiar 
through these means, and was much better fitted 
to make herself valuable and enjoyable in her re- 
lation to her pupils. Now it was her turn to 
write to Percy. How he counted on her letters ! 
How promptly they came ! How they brightened 
up his little room and warmed his heart ! A dear 
face looking out from the pages of metaphysics, 
a warm human love glowing through abstract 
truths and doctrinal discussions, inspires and vi- 
talizes even brain power. 

Daisy had been home more than a month. 
Percy had graduated from the theological seminar 
ry a short time before, and was making a brief 
visit at Hemlocks. His talent had secured him 
a high rank in his class, and, during the last six 
months he had preached frequently, earning a 
reputation for unusual pulpit ability. He still 


256 Daisy Seymour. 

looked forward with some distrust and trembling 
towards the work before him. The intellectual 
labor he did not shrink from, but he had a high 
conception of the office of the ministry, and was 
often weighed down with a sense of his weakness 
and unworthiness to put his hand to the ark of 
God. 

Percy and Daisy were walking home from the 
late afternoon service at the village church. They 
were talking as a young man and maiden talk 
together, who are very dear to each other, who 
have chosen each other out of all the world, and 
who look out into the future with eyes radiant 
with the light of love, and hearts united in com- 
mon hopes and interests. They had been talking 
of that future. Pe^cy had received calls from 
two churches ; one was a large church in a neigh- 
boring city, the other was in a flourishing village, 
the parish including the surrounding farming dis- 
trict. 

" On many accounts,” he said, ” I should pre- 


Final Views. 


257 


fer the city. There is a wide field of usefulness 
in such a position, and a much greater stimulus 
to effort. The pressure from without would con- 
tinually compel me to new exertions, and the 
strongest motives and warmest sensibilities rouse 
me into nobler action. On the other hand', my 
youth and inexperience unfit me for such a re- 
sponsibility. I am only twenty - five years old. 
It seems to me I have no right to assume such 
solemn duties, and take such a charge, until I 
have proved myself a little. To write sermons 
is only a part of my work. A pastor so often 
needs mature judgment, knowledge of human 
nature, and that practical wisdom and those com- 
prehensive and warm sympathies which come 
only through the experience of life, that I fear my 
ignorance and crudity and indiscretion would 
make disastrous mistakes. I think I am quite 
willing to undertake hard labor, endure criticism 
and mortification, and throw myself without re- 
serve into my work ; but I Jiave no right to risk 


258 


Daisy Seymour, 


my Master^s interest and honor in my inexpe- 
rienced, rash hands. I might not only tax the 
patience and forbearance of my people, but bring 
reproach upon the cause I loved.” 

" But we have the promise, — ' as thy day is, 
60 shall thy strength be.’” 

” But God expects us to exercise the faculties 
which He has given us, and He works through 
natural means, hiding Himself behind the laws of 
our mental and spiritual nature, as well as in the 
laws of matter. If a child rashly attempts to do 
a man’s work. He does not endow him with a 
man’s strength. In the duty that He appoints us, 
the work that He calls us to do without our 
choosing. He strengthens the weak heart with the 
assurance,' — "my grace is sufficient for thee.” 
When He imposes labor and responsibility upon 
us. He gives grace to the willing, trusting heart, 
and at all times gives to him that askelh ; but He 
often leaves us to make choices when we must 
measure ourselves by the work. 


Final Views. 


259 


” Would not the country church also demand 
experience and knowledge, and bring responsi- 
bility?” 

” Not in so great a degree. The burden of so 
many souls would not rest on me ; so many in- 
terests would not require my attention and action ; 
the whirl and rush of currents of humanity, 
sweeping through the streets, would not force 
their manifold claims upon my bewildered eyes, 
and goad and sting my feelings into morbid sensi- 
bility and impetuous action. I must have time 
to balance myself in my new position ; I must 
take some less conspicuous place, learn how to 
meet the wants of a people, and how to use my- 
self most effectually in the great work of saving 
souls.” 

" But is there no danger of stagnation in the 
qo untry, where there is less intellectual stimulus, 
and less necessity for vigorous effort ? ” 

"Perhaps. But we should not confound a 
slow, healthy growth with stagnation, neither a 


260 Daisy Seymour. 

hot “ bed forcing into fruitage with a natural ma- 
turity.” 

'' Then it seems to me that you have already 
decided the question in favor of the country 
church.” 

"No, Daisy ; not decided. My ambition and 
taste look one way, my judgment, and possibly 
my conscience, another. I waited to consult you, 
thinking your eyes might see more impartially.” 

Daisy was silent, and after a pause he went on, 
looking wistfully at her. " I thought perhaps 
you would prefer the city ; that I ought not to 
hide you in a country parsonage, — you who 
might be a queen anywhere.” 

Daisy started a little, conscious that such a 
thought had glanced through her mind, almost 
hidden in the fond pride which made her unwill- 
ing that Percy should waste his talent in a coun- 
try pulpit. His remark made her ashamed that 
she should have had such a thought of herself, 
or such an estimate of tlie use and waste of tal- 


Final Views, 


261 


ent. She looked up archly. ” So you thought 
you would be good, choose humbly and conscien- 
tiously, and then let me be the excuse for grati- 
fying your own desire. You would not pluck the 
forbidden fruit yourself, but you would eat it 
fast enough if I gave it to you. Now, Percy, 
are you not ashamed of yourself, to use me for a 
scape - goat ? ” 

” Daisy, you know that it would be hard for 
me to see you suffer, when I could bear it pa- 
tiently myself.’’ 

” Yes, I do know it; but you must let me 
share the suffering as well as the joy. Am I to 
be your help - meet through life by tempting your 
love to choose, for my sake, that .which you think 
wrong or unworthy of yourself? 

" But I have a right to think of you and choose 
for your sake.” 

”Do n’t let us hide under a mean, selfish subter- 
fu<je which wears the name of affection. Did 
you never hear a man, who never thinks of con- 


262 


Daisy Seymour, 


Bultins: his wife’s taste, excuse himself for this or 
that indulgence, that she’ liked it, or he did it to 
please ' her’? Or a woman, who always has her 
own way, cloak her selfishness or indolence under 
the plea, — ' my husband will not let me do that’ ? 
or, ' my husband insisted that I should have thi&’ ? 
Now I protest, in the beginning, against any such 
sham, or such real yielding of principle or in- 
dulgence of self. I am not half as good as I 
ought to be, I knovv^, and perhaps shall not al- 
ways ■ strengthen you in the right ; but I charge 
you now that you never yield to me when you 
feel that I am wrong, and never do for my sake 
what you would not otherwise think right.” 

" Then I hope you will never tempt me, Daisy. 
It would be very hard to resist you, especially as 
I have full as much confidence in your conscience 
as in my own . But if there was no question of 
duty, you would prefer the city? ” 

She did not answer. It was true that she would 
prefer the city, and for some good reasons, too. 


Final Views* 


263 


"At that moment they came upon little Nellie’s 
grave. Mrs. Seymour had desired to have her 
buried,' ” just for the present,” on their own farm. 
The Seymour lot was in a cemetery nearly three 
miles distant, and she wanted her darling’s grave 
where she could sometimes visit it. A simple 
slab, with the inscription, " Our Nellie,” marked 
the spot. The grass was smooth and green over 
the grave ; a little weeping willow swept down 
its swaying fringes of green leaves over the foot ; 
fresh flowers filled the little vases sunk in the 
turf. It was four years since Nellie died ; but 
her name was kept in sweet remembrance. The 
grass in the little foot - path leading to the grave 
was well trodden with frequent footsteps, and 
from early spring to the winter snows, fresh flow- 
ers spoke with beautiful significance of the loving 
hands that thus expressed the heart’s tender mem- 
ories. This work of love was especially claimed 
by Dick and Robbie. Their mother had encour- 
aged them in it, that the memory of their little 


264 


Daisy Seymour, 


sister might not fade from their childish thoughts, 
and that the little one who had gone up to be an 
angel, might be a link to connect the visible with 
the invisible, and give her something real and 
human upon which to fasten her conceptions of 
heaven and angels and God. 

Crossing the fields from the public road, they 
came suddenly upon the spot. They stopped 
sometime in silence, each going back in thought 
to the summer of her death, — the summer when 
they first met each other; each looking away 
from themselves and their future plans and hopes, 
up into that world wh(a*e Nellie had gone, where 
their angels do always behold the face of my 
Father.” 

"And a little child shall lead them.” It was 
as if a little rift had opened in the sky, and they 
had seen for a moment the faces of the angels- or 

O 7 

their ears had causrht faint echoes of the song’s of 
the redeemed, and out of the distance sounded 
a voice of infinite love and grace, answering back 


Final Views. 


265 


to their ascriptions of praise, — ” unto Him that 
loved us and washed us from our sins in His own 
blood.’’ ”I know thy works, and charity, and ser- 
vice, and faith, and thy patience and thy works.” 
" And hast borne, and hast patience, and for my 
name’s sake hast labored, and hast not fainted.” 

After a long silence, Daisy opened her little 
hymn - book and softly read : 

“ Jesus, I my cross have taken, 

Al] to leave and follow thee ; 

Naked, poor, despised, forsaken. 

Thou from hence my all shalt he ; , 

Perish every fond ambition, 

All I ’ve sought, or hoped, or known 
Yet how rich is my condition I 
God and heaven are still my own.” 

Percy took the book, and, turning over the 
leaves, read in answer : 

“ Know, my soul, thy full salvation; 

Rise o ’er sin, and fear, and care ; 

Joy to find, in every station. 

Something still to do or bear. 

Think what spirit dwells within thee ; 

Think what Father’s smiles are thine ; 

Think that Jesus died to win thee ; 

Child of heaven, canst thou repine? 


266 Daisy Seymour, 

“ Haste thee on from grace to glory, 

Armed by faith and winged by prayer; 

Heaven’s eternal day ’s before thee ; 

God’s own hand shall guide thee there 
Soon shall close thy earthly mission ; 

Soon shall pass thy pilgrim days ; 

Hope shall change to glad fruition, 

Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.” 

”I think, said Daisy, as they turned home- 
wards, "if God will let us work for Him, the 
lowest place where we could do service would be 
a consecrated temple, the most humble labor be- 
come glorified into an act of worship. There is 
no great nor little, no high nor low ; anything 
done for Him is a royal honor to the doer. 
Human distinctions fade into nothingness ; the 
cup of cold water to the least of the disciples, 
and the valiant blow for the cause of truth; 
patient suffering, silent self-denial, and heroic 
effort that wins the world’s applause ; — oh, if we 
could see all these things as God sees them, how 
often should we feel that the least becomes great- 
est I How glad we should be to do something for 


Final Views, 


267 


Him, if He would only use us even in the hum- 
blest service ! ” 

Service inspired by love outruns all the re- 
quirements of duty. The nearer we live to God, 
* the warmer and more faithful our love, the less 
conflicting are our questions of duty. The Spirit 
abiding in us. His cause dearer than all other 
interests, our perception and motive and choice 
lie high above the influence of pride, ambition, 
selfishness, or any other worldly consideration.” 

”It is related of the celebrated Mor^ame, 
that he once let fall his scalpel in the midst of a 
dissection and exclaimed, — ' Oh, if I could only 
love God as well as I know Him P It is so 
strange that we do not love Him with an all - 
absorbing love that is constantly seeking oppor- 
tunity for expression, instead of going reluctantly 
to do His will from a cold sense of obligation. 
How shall we keep such a love burning in our 
hearts ? ” 

” Perhaps by kindling our affections and feed- 


268 Daisy Seymour, 

ins: the fire with a continual remembrance of His 
love to us. When I think that ' God so loved 
the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that 
whosever believeth on Him might not perish but 
have everlasting life,’ I realize, so overwhelm- 
ingly, the danger of perishing human beings, and 
get such a glimpse of God’s infinite love to us, 
that my heart does burn within me. I long to 
go to work for such a loving Master.” 

” And if we could realize more vividly the worth 
of spiritual things, carry in our thoughts an abid- 
ing and intense view of the other life, of which 
this is the beginning, hold a more intense belief in 
the heaven to which we are looking, I think the 
mists would be cleared from our eyes, and our 
sluggish alFections and selfish wills would be so 
infused with the spirit and purified in the atmos- 
phere of that heavenly land, that even here we 
should begin to see Jesus as He is, be like Him, 
and draw spiritually nearer to the time when we 
shall be satisfied because awaking in His likeness.” 


Fmal Views, 


269 


They had reached home. Standing a few 
moments at the door, looking towards the west, 
where the rosy flush was growing faint on the 
clouds, and the sunset colors were fading into twi- 
light, Percy reverently answered : " The holy 

Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God; 
Having the glory of God, and her light was 
like unto a stone most precious, even like a jas- 
per stone, clear as crystal ; . . . . And I saw 
no temple therein, for the Lord God almighty 
and the Lamb are the temple of it. And the 
city had no need of the sun, neither of the 
moon , to shine in it ; for the glory of God did 
lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof. 
And the nations of them that are saved 
shall walk in the light of it ; and the kings of 
the earth do bring their glory and honor into 
it. And the gates of it shall not be shut at all 

by day, for there shall be no night there 

And there shall be no more curse, but the throne 
of God and of the Lamb shall be in it, and his 


270 


Daisy Seymour. 


servants shall serve him ; and they shall see 
his face ; and his name shall be in their fore- 
heads. And there shall be no night there ; 
and they need no candle, neither light of the sun ; 
for the Lord God giveth them light ; and they 
shall reign for ever and ever.” 


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